LAZARRE 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Lazarre 


TIary  Hartlvell  Caihertoood 


With  illustrations 

By  Andre  Castaigne 


Indianapolis 

The  'Botoen-Werrill  Company 

Publishers 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHTED,  190-1... 
BY  THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUN  WORTH  *  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN, N.Y. 


PRELUDE 


ST.  BAT'S 


LAZARRE 

66  "A  yT  Y  name  is  Eagle,"  said  the  little  girl. 

JLVj.     The  boy  said  nothing. 

"My  name  is  Eagle,"  she  repeated.  "Eagle  de 
Ferrier.  What  is  your  name?" 

Still  the  boy  said  nothing. 

She  looked  at  him  surprised,  but  checked  her  dis 
pleasure.  He  was  about  nine  years  old,  while  she 
was  less  than  seven.  By  the  dim  light  which  sifted 
through  the  top  of  St.  Bat's  church  he  did  not  appear 
sullen.  He  sat  on  the  flagstones  as  if  dazed  and 
stupefied,  facing  a  blacksmith's  forge,  which  for 
many  generations  had  occupied  the  north  transept. 
A  smith  and  some  apprentices  hammered  measures 
that  echoed  with  multiplied  volume  from  the  Nor 
man  roof ;  and  the  crimson  fire  made  a  spot  vivid  as 
blood.  A  low  stone  arch,  half  walled  up,  and  black 
ened  by  smoke,  framed  the  top  of  the  smithy,  and 
through  this  frame  could  be  seen  a  bit  of  St.  Bat's 
close  outside,  upon  which  the  doors  stood  open.  Now 
an  apprentice  would  seize  the  bellows-handle  and 
blow  up  flame  which  briefly  sprang  and  disappeared. 

3 


4  LAZARRB 

The  aproned  figures,  Saxon  and  brawny,  made  a  fas 
cinating  show  in  the  dark  shop. 

Though  the  boy  was  dressed  like  a  plain  French 
citizen  of  that  year,  1795,  and  his  knee  breeches 
betrayed  shrunken  calves,  and  his  sleeves,  wrists 
that  were  swollen  as  with  tumors,  Eagle  accepted 
him  as  her  equal.  His  fine  wavy  hair  was  of  a  chest 
nut  color,  and  his  hands  and  feet  were  small.  His 
features  were  perfect  as  her  own.  But  while  life 
played  unceasingly  in  vivid  expression  across  her 
face,  his  muscles  never  moved.  The  hazel  eyes, 
bluish  around  their  iris  rims,  took  cognizance  of 
nothing.  His  left  eyebrow  had  been  parted  by  a  cut 
now  healed  and  forming  its  permanent  scar. 

"You  understand  me,  don't  you?"  Eagle  talked 
to  him.  "But  you  could  not  understand  Sally  Blake. 
She  is  an  English  girl.  We  live  at  her  house  until 
our  ship  sails,  and  I  hope  it  will  sail  soon.  Poor  boy ! 
Did  the  wicked  mob  in  Paris  hurt  your  arms  ?" 

She  soothed  and  patted  his  wrists,  and  he  neither 
shrank  in  pain  nor  resented  the  endearment  with 
male  shyness. 

Eagle  edged  closer  to  him  on  the  stone  pavement. 
She  was  amused  by  the  blacksmith's  arch,  and  inter 
ested  in  all  the  unusual  life  around  her,  and  she 
leaned  forward  to  find  some  response  in  his  eyes.  He 
was  unconscious  of  his  strange  environment.  The 
ancient  church  of  St.  Bartholomew  the  Great,  or  St. 
Bat's  as  it  was  called,  in  the  heart  of  London,  had 
long  been  a  hived  village.  Not  only  were  houses 
clustered  thickly  around  its  outside  walls  and  the 


STT,     BA.T>S  5 

space  of  ground  named  its  close;  but  the  inside, 
degraded  from  its  first  use,  was  parceled  out  to  own 
ers  and  householders.  The  nave  only  had  been 
retained  as  a  church  bounded  by  massive  pillars, 
which  did  not  prevent  Londoners  from  using  it  as 
a  thoroughfare.  Children  of  resident  dissenters 
could  and  did  hoot  when  it  pleased  them,  during 
service,  from  an  overhanging  window  in  the  choir. 
The  Lady  Chapel  was  a  fringe-maker's  shop.  The 
smithy  in  the  north  transept  had  descended  from 
father  to  son.  The  south  transept,  walled  up  to 
make  a  respectable  dwelling,  showed  through  its 
open  door  the  ghastly  marble  tomb  of  a  crusader 
which  the  thrifty  London  housewife  had  turned  into 
a  parlor  table.  His  crossed  feet  and  hands  and  up 
ward  staring  countenance  protruded  from  the  midst 
of  knick-knacks. 

Light  fell  through  the  venerable  clerestory  on 
upper  arcades.  Some  of  these  were  walled  shut, 
but  others  retained  their  arched  openings  into  the 
church,  and  formed  balconies  from  which  upstairs 
dwellers  could  look  down  at  what  was  passing  be 
low. 

Two  women  leaned  out  of  the  Norman  arcades, 
separated  only  by  a  pillar,  watching  across  the  nave 
those  little  figures  seated  in  front  of  the  black 
smith's  window.  An  atmosphere  of  comfort  and 
thrift  filled  St.  Bat's.  It  was  the  abode  of  labor  and 
humble  prosperity,  not  an  asylum  of  poverty.  Great 
worthies,  indeed,  such  as  John  Milton,  and  nearer 
our  own  day,  Washington  Irving,  did  not  disdain  to 


live  in  St.  Bartholomew's  close.  The  two  British 
matrons,  therefore,  spoke  the  prejudice  of  the  better 
rather  than  the  baser  class. 

"The  little  devils !"  said  one  woman. 

"They  look  innocent,"  remarked  the  other.  "But 
these  French  do  make  my  back  crawl !" 

"How  long  are  they  going  to  stay  in  St.  Bat's  ?" 

"The  two  men  with  the  little  girl  and  the  servant 
intend  to  sail  for  America  next  week.  The  lad,  and 
the  man  that  brought  him  in — as  dangerous  looking 
a  foreigner  as  ever  I  saw! — are  like  to  prowl  out 
any  time.  I  saw  them  go  into  the  smithy,  and  I  went 
over  to  ask  the  smith's  wife  about  them.  She  let  two 
upper  chambers  to  the  creatures  this  morning." 

"What  ails  the  lad?   He  has  the  look  of  an  idiot." 

"Well,  then,  God  knows  what  ails  any  of  the 
crazy  French !  If  they  all  broke  out  with  boils  like 
the  heathen  of  scripture,  it  would  not  surprise  a 
Christian.  As  it  is,  they  keep  on  beheading  one 
another,  day  after  day  and  month  after  month ;  and 
the  time  must  come  when  none  of  them  will  be  left — • 
and  a  satisfaction  that  will  be  to  respectable  folks !" 

"First  the  king,  and  then  the  queen,"  mused  one 
speaker.  "And  now  news  comes  that  the  little 
prince  has  died  of  bad  treatment  in  his  prison.  Eng 
land  will  not  go  into  mourning  for  him  as  it  did  for 
his  father,  King  Louis.  What  a  pretty  sight  it  was, 
to  see  every  decent  body  in  a  bit  of  black,  and  the 
houses  draped,  they  say,  in  every  town !  A  comfort 
it  must  have  been  to  the  queen  of  France  when  she 
heard  of  such  Christian  respect!" 


S  T  .     B  A.  T  '  S  7 

The  women's  faces,  hard  in  texture  and  rubicund 
as  beef  and  good  ale  could  make  them,  leaned  silent 
a  moment  high  above  the  dim  pavement.  St.  Bat's 
little  bell  struck  the  three  quarters  before  ten; 
lightly,  delicately,  with  always  a  promise  of  the 
great  booming  which  should  follow  on  the  stroke 
of  the  hour.  Its  perfection  of  sound  contrasted  with 
the  smithy  clangor  of  metal  in  process  of  welding. 
A  butcher's  boy  made  his  way  through  the  front 
entrance  toward  a  staircase,  his  feet  echoing  on  the 
flags,  carrying  exposed  a  joint  of  beef  on  the  board 
upon  his  head. 

"And  how  do  your  foreigners  behave  themselves, 
Mrs.  Blake?"  inquired  the  neighbor. 

"Like  French  emmy-grays,  to  be  sure.  I  told 
Blake  when  he  would  have  them  to  lodge  in  the 
house,  that  we  are  a  respectable  family.  But  he  is 
master,  and  their  lordships  has  money  in  their 
purses." 

"French  lordships!"  exclaimed  the  neighbor. 
"Whether  they  calls  themselves  counts  or  markises, 
what's  their  nobility  worth?  Nothing!" 

"The  Markis  de  Ferrier,"  retorted  Mrs.  Blake, 
nettled  by  a  liberty  taken  with  her  lodgers  which 
she  reserved  for  herself,  "is  a  gentleman  if  he  is  an 
emmy-gray,  and  French.  Blake  may  be  master  in 
his  own  house,  but  he  knows  landed  gentry  from 
tinkers — whether  they  ever  comes  to  their  land  again 
or  not." 

"Well,  then,"  soothed  her  gossip,  "I  was  only 
thinking  of  them  French  that  comes  over,  glad  to 


8  Iv  AZ  ARRK 

teach  their  betters,  or  even  to  work  with  their  hands 
for  a  crust." 

"Still,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  again  giving  rein  to  her 
prejudices,  "I  shall  be  glad  to  see  all  French  papists 
out  of  St.  Bat's.  For  what  does  scripture  say? — 
'Touch  not  the  unclean  thing!'  And  that  servant- 
body,  instead  of  looking  after  her  little  missus,  gal 
loping  out  of  the  close  on  some  bloody  errand !" 

"You  ought  to  be  thankful,  Mrs.  Blake,  to  have 
her  out  of  the  way,  instead  of  around  our  children, 
poisoning  their  hinfant  minds!  Thank  God  they 
are  playing  in  the  church  lane  like  little  Christians, 
safe  from  even  that  lad  and  lass  yonder !" 

A  yell  of  fighting  from  the  little  Christians  min 
gled  with  their  hoots  at  choir  boys  gathering  for  the 
ten  o'clock  service  in  St.  Bat's.  When  Mrs.  Blake 
and  her  friend  saw  this  preparation,  they  withdrew 
their  dissenting  heads  from  the  arcades  in  order  not 
to  countenance  what  might  go  on  below. 

Minute  followed  minute,  and  the  little  bell  struck 
the  four  quarters.  Then  the  great  bell  boomed  out 
ten; — the  bell  which  had  given  signal  for  lighting 
the  funeral  piles  of  many  a  martyr,  on  Smithfield, 
directly  opposite  the  church.  Organ  music  pealed ; 
choir  boys  appeared  from  their  robing-room  beside 
the  entrance,  pacing  two  and  two  as  they  chanted. 
The  celebrant  stood  in  his  place  at  the  altar,  and 
antiphonal  music  rolled  among  the  arches ;  pierced 
by  the  dagger  voice  of  a  woman  in  the  arcades,  who 
called  after  the  retreating  butcher's  boy  to  look 
.sharp,  and  bring  her  the  joint  she  ordered. 


ST.     BAT'S  9 

Eagle  sprang  up  and  dragged  the  arm  of  the  un- 
moving  boy  in  the  north  transept.  There  was  a 
weeping  tomb  in  the  chancel  which  she  wished  to 
show  him, — lettered  with  a  threat  to  shed  tears  for 
a  beautiful  memory  if  passers-by  did  not  contribute 
their  share;  a  threat  the  marble  duly  executed  on 
account  of  the  dampness  of  the  church  and  the  hard 
ness  of  men's  hearts.  But  it  was  impossible  to  dis 
turb  a  religious  service.  So  she  coaxed  the  boy, 
dragging  behind  her,  down  the  ambulatory  beside 
the  oasis  of  chapel,  where  the  singers,  sitting  side- 
wise,  in  rows  facing  each  other,  chanted  the  Venite, 
A  few  worshipers  from  the  close,  all  of  them  women, 
pattered  in  to  take  part  in  this  daily  office.  The 
smithy  hammers  rang  under  organ  measures,  and 
an  odor  of  cooking  sifted  down  from  the  arcades. 

Outside  the  church  big  fat-bellied  pigeons  were 
cooing  about  the  tower  or  strutting  and  pecking  on 
the  ground.  To  kill  one  was  a  grave  offense.  The 
worst  boy  playing  in  the  lane  durst  not  lift  a  hand 
against  them. 

Very  different  game  were  Eagle  and  the  other 
alien  whom  she  led  past  the  red  faced  English  chil 
dren. 

"Good  day,"  she  spoke  pleasantly,  feeling  their 
antagonism.  They  answered  her  with  a  titter. 

"Sally  Blake  is  the  only  one  I  know,"  she  ex 
plained  in  French,  to  her  companion  who  moved  fee 
bly  and  stiffly  behind  her  dancing  step.  "I  cannot 
talk  English  to  them,  and  besides,  their  manners  are 
good,  for  they  are  not  like  our  peasants/' 


10 


Sally  Blake  and  a  bare  kneed  lad  began  to  amble 
behind  the  foreigners,  he  taking  his  cue  smartly  and 
lolling  out  his  tongue.  The  whole  crowd  set  up  a 
shout,  and  Eagle  looked  back.  She  wheeled  and 
slapped  the  St.  Bat's  girl  in  the  face. 

That  silent  being  whom  she  had  taken  under  her 
care  recoiled  from  the  blow  which  the  bare  kneed 
boy  instantly  gave  him,  and  without  defending  him 
self  or  her,  shrank  down  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty. 
She  screamed  with  pain  at  this  sight,  which  hurt 
worse  than  the  hair-pulling  of  the  mob  around  her. 
She  fought  like  a  panther  in  front  of  him. 

Two  men  in  the  long  narrow  lane  leading  from 
Smithfield,  interfered,  and  scattered  her  assailants. 

You  may  pass  up  a  step  into  the  graveyard,  which 
is  separated  by  a  wall  from  the  lane.  And  though 
nobody  followed,  the  two  men  hurried  Eagle  and  the 
boy  into  the  graveyard  and  closed  the  gate. 

It  was  not  a  large  enclosure,  and  thread-like  paths, 
grassy  and  ungraveled,  wound  among  crowded 
graves.  There  was  a  very  high  outside  wall  :  and  the 
place  insured  such  privacy  as  could  not  be  had  in 
St.  Bat's  church.  Some  crusted  stones  lay  broad  as 
gray  doors  on  ancient  graves  ;  but  the  most  stood 
up  in  irregular  oblongs,  white  and  lichened. 

A  cat  call  from  the  lane  was  the  last  shot  of  the 
battle.  Eagle  valiantly  sleeked  her  disarrayed  hair, 
the  breast  under  her  bodice  still  heaving  and  sob 
bing.  The  June  sun  illuminated  a  determined  child 
of  the  gray  eyed  type  between  white  and  brown, 


SOT.     BAT'S  ii 

flushed  with  fullness  of  blood,  quivering  with  her 
intensity  of  feeling. 

"Who  would  say  this  was  Mademoiselle  de  Fer- 
rier !"  observed  the  younger  of  the  two  men.  Both 
were  past  middle  age.  The  one  whose  queue  showed 
the  most  gray  took  Eagle  reproachfully  by  her 
hands;  but  the  other  stood  laughing. 

"My  little  daughter!" 

"I  did  strike  the  English  girl — and  I  would  do  it 
again,  father !" 

"She  would  do  it  again,  monsieur  the  marquis," 
repeated  the  laugher. 

"Were  the  children  rude  to  you  ?" 

"They  mocked  him,  father."  She  pulled  the  boy 
from  behind  a  grave-stone  where  he  crouched  un- 
moving  as  a  rabbit,  and  showed  him  to  her  guar 
dians.  "See  how  weak  he  is !  Regard  him — how  he 
walks  in  a  dream !  Look  at  his  swollen  wrists — he 
cannot  fight.  And  if  you  wish  to  make  these  Eng 
lish  respect  you  you  have  got  to  fight  them !" 

"Where  is  Ernestine?  She  should  not  have  left 
you  alone." 

"Ernestine  went  to  the  shops  to  obey  your  orders, 
father." 

The  boy's  dense  inertia  was  undisturbed  by  what 
had  so  agonized  the  girl.  He  stood  in  the  English 
sunshine  gazing  stupidly  at  her  guardians. 

"Who  is  this  boy,  Eagle  ?"  exclaimed  the  younger 
man. 

"He  does  not  talk.    He  does  not  tell  his  name." 


12  IvAZARRB 

The  younger  man  seized  the  elder's  arm  and  whis 
pered  to  him. 

"No,  Philippe,  no !"  the  elder  man  answered.  But 
they  both  approached  the  boy  with  a  deference 
which  surprised  Eagle,  and  examined  his  scarred 
eyebrow  and  his  wrists.  Suddenly  the  marquis 
dropped  upon  his  knees  and  stripped  the  stockings 
down  those  meager  legs.  He  kissed  them,  and  the 
swollen  ankles,  sobbing  like  a  woman.  The  boy 
seemed  unconscious  of  this  homage.  Such  exagger 
ation  of  her  own  tenderness  made  her  ask, 

"What  ails  my  father,  Cousin  Philippe?" 

Her  Cousin  Philippe  glanced  around  the  high 
walls  and  spoke  cautiously. 

"Who  was  the  English  girl  at  the  head  of  your 
mob,  Eagle?" 

"Sally  Blake." 

"What  would  Sally  Blake  do  if  she  saw  the  little 
king  of  France  and  Navarre  ride  into  the  church 
lane,  filling  it  with  his  retinue,  and  heard  the  royal 
salute  of  twenty-one  guns  fired  for  him?" 

"She  would  be  afraid  of  him." 

"But  when  he  comes  afoot,  with  that  idiotic  face, 
giving  her  such  a  good  chance  to  bait  him — how  can 
she  resist  baiting  him  ?  Sally  Blake  is  human." 

"Cousin  Philippe,  this  is  not  our  dauphin?  Our 
dauphin  is  dead !  Both  my  father  and  you  told  me 
he  died  in  the  Temple  prison  nearly  two  weeks  ago !" 

The  Marquis  de  Ferrier  replaced  the  boy's  stock 
ings  reverently,  and  rose,  backing  away  from  him. 

"There  is  your  king,  Eagle,"  the  old  courtier  an- 


S.     BAT'S  13 

nounced  to  his  child.  "Louis  XVII,  the  soft  of 
Louis  XVI  and  Marie  Antoinette,  survives  in  this 
wreck.  How  he  escaped  from  prison  we  do  not 
know.  Why  he  is  here  unrecognized  in  England, 
where  his  claim  to  the  throne  was  duly  acknowl 
edged  on  the  death  of  his  father,  we  do  not  know. 
But  we  who  have  often  seen  the  royal  child  cannot 
fail  to  identify  him;  brutalized  as  he  is  by  the  past 
horrible  year  of  his  life." 

The  boy  stood  unwinking  before  his  three  expa 
triated  subjects.  Two  of  them  noted  the  traits  of 
his  house,  even  to  his  ears,  which  were  full  at  top, 
and  without  any  indentation  at  the  bottom  where 
they  met  the  sweep  of  the  jaw. 

The  dauphin  of  France  had  been  the  most  tor 
tured  victim  of  his  country's  Revolution.  By  a  jailer 
who  cut  his  eyebrow  open  with  a  blow,  and  knocked 
him  down  on  the  slightest  pretext,  the  child  had  been 
forced  to  drown  memory  in  fiery  liquor,  month  after 
month.  During  six  worse  months,  which  might 
have  been  bettered  by  even  such  a  jailer,  hid  from 
the  light  in  an  airless  dungeon,  covered  with  rags 
which  were  never  changed,  and  with  filth  and  ver 
min  which  daily  accumulated,  having  his  food 
passed  to  him  through  a  slit  in  the  door,  hearing  no 
human  voice,  seeing  no  human  face,  his  joints  swell 
ing  with  poisoned  blood,  he  had  died  in  everything 
except  physical  vitality,  and  was  taken  out  at  last 
merely  a  breathing  corpse.  Then  it  was  proclaimed 
that  this  corpse  had  ceased  to  breathe.  The  heir 
of  a  long  line  of  kings  was  coffined  and  buried. 


14  IvA^ARRE) 

While  the  elder  De  Ferrier  shed  nervous  tears,  the 
younger  looked  on  with  eyes  which  had  seen  the 
drollery  of  the  French  Revolution. 

"I  wish  I  knew  the  man  who  has  played  this  clever 
trick,  and  whether  honest  men  or  the  rabble  are 
behind  it." 

"Let  us  find  him  and  embrace  him !" 

"I  would  rather  embrace  his  prospects  when  the 
house  of  Bourbon  comes  again  to  the  throne  of 
France.  Who  is  that  fellow  at  the  gate  ?  He  looks 
as  if  he  had  some  business  here." 

The  man  came  on  among  the  tombstones,  show 
ing  a  full  presence  and  prosperous  air,  suggesting 
good  vintages,  such  as  were  never  set  out  in  the 
Smithfield  alehouse.  Instead  of  being  smooth 
shaven,  he  wore  a  very  long  mustache  which 
dropped  its  ends  below  his  chin. 

A  court  painter,,  attached  to  his  patrons,  ought  to 
have  fallen  into  straits  during  the  Revolution.  Phi 
lippe  exclaimed  with  astonishment — 

"Why,  it's  Bellenger !    Look  at  him  1" 

Bellenger  took  off  his  cap  and  made  a  deep  rev 
erence. 

"My  uncle  is  weeping  over  the  dead  English,  Bel 
lenger,"  said  Philippe.  "It  always  moves  him  to 
tears  to  see  how  few  of  them  die." 

"We  can  make  no  such  complaint  against  French 
men  in  these  days,  monsieur,"  the  court  painter 
answered.  "I  see  you  have  my  young  charge  here, 
enjoying  the  gravestones  with  you; — a  pleasing 


S  T .     B  A  T '  S  15 

change  after  the  unmarked  trenches  of  France.  With 
your  permission  I  will  take  him  away." 

"Have  I  the  honor,  Monsieur  Bellenger,  of  salut 
ing  the  man  who  brought  the  king  out  of  prison?" 
the  old  man  inquired. 

Again  Bellenger  made  the  marquis  a  deep  rever 
ence,  which  modestly  disclaimed  any  exploit. 

"When  was  this  done  ? — Who  were  your  helpers  ? 
Where  are  you  taking  him?" 

Bellenger  lifted  his  eyebrows  at  the  fanatical  roy 
alist. 

"I  wish  I  had  had  a  hand  in  it !"  spoke  Philippe 
de  Ferrier. 

"I  am  taking  this  boy  to  America,  monsieur  the 
marquis,"  the  painter  quietly  answered. 

"But  why  not  to  one  o-f  his  royal  uncles  ?" 

"His  royal  uncles,"  repeated  Bellenger.  "Pardon, 
monsieur  the  marquis,  but  did  I  say  he  had  any 
royal  uncles?" 

"Come!"  spoke  Philippe  de  Ferrier.  "No  jokes 
with  us,  Bellenger.  Honest  men  of  every  degree 
should  stand  together  in  these  times." 

Eagle  sat  down  on  a  flat  gravestone,  and  looked 
at  the  boy  who  seemed  to  be  an  object  of  dispute 
between  the  men  of  her  family  and  the  other  man. 
He  neither  saw  nor  heard  what  passed.  She  said 
to  herself — 

"It  would  make  no  difference  to  me!  It  is  the 
same,  whether  he  is  the  king  or  not." 

Bellenger's  eyes  half  closed  their  lids  as  if  for 
protection  from  the  sun. 


16 


"Monsieur  de  Ferrier  may  rest  assured  that  I  am 
not  at  present  occupied  with  jokes.  I  will  again 
ask  permission  to  take  my  charge  away," 

"You  may  not  go  until  you  have  answered  some 
questions." 

"That  I  will  do  as  far  as  I  am  permitted." 

"Do  Monsieur  and  his  brother  know  that  the  king 
is  here?"  inquired  the  elder  De  Ferrier,  taking  the 
lead. 

*  "What  reason  have  you  to  believe,"  responded 
Bellenger,  "that  the  Count  de  Provence  and  the 
Count  d'Artois  have  any  interest  in  this  boy  ?" 

Philippe  laughed,  and  kicked  the  turf. 

"We  have  seen  him  many  a  time  at  Versailles,  my 
friend.  You  are  very  mysterious." 

"Have  his  enemies,  or  his  friends  set  him  free?" 
demanded  the  old  Frenchman. 

"That,"  said  Bellenger,  "I  may  not  tell." 

"Does  Monsieur  know  that  you  are  going  to  take 
him  to  America?" 

"That  I  may  not  tell." 

"When  do  you  sail,  and  in  what  vessel  ?" 

"These  matters,  also,  I  may  not  tell." 

"This  man  is  a  kidnapper  1"  the  old  noble  cried, 
bringing  out  his  sword  with  a  hiss.  But  Philippe 
held  his  arm. 

"Among  things  permitted  to  you,"  said  Philippe, 
"perhaps  you  will  take  oath  the  boy  is  not  a  Bour 
bon?" 

Bellenger  shrugged,  and  waved  his  hands, 

"You  admit  that  he  is?" 


•'  I  will  again  ask  permission  to  take  my  charge  away  " 


ST.     BAT'S  17 

"I  admit  nothing,  monsieur.  These  are  days  in 
which  we  save  our  heads  as  well  as  we  can,  and 
admit  nothing." 

"If  we  had  never  seen  the  dauphin  we  should 
infer  that  this  is  no  common  child  you  are  carrying 
away  so  secretly,  bound  by  so  many  pledges.  A  man 
like  you,  trusted  with  an  important  mission,  natu 
rally  magnifies  it.  You  refuse  to  let  us  know  any 
thing  about  this  affair?" 

"I  am  simply  obeying  orders,  monsieur/'  said 
Bellenger  humbly.  "It  is  not  my  affair." 

"You  are  better  dressed,  more  at  ease  with  the 
world  than  any  other  refugee  I  have  seen  since  we 
came  out  of  France.  Somebody  who  has  money  is 
paying  to  have  the  child  placed  in  safety.  Very 
well.  Any  country  but  his  own  is  a  good  country 
for  him  now.  My  uncle  and  I  will  not  interfere. 
We  do  not  understand.  But  liberty  of  any  kind  is 
better  than  imprisonment  and  death.  You  can  of 
course  evade  us,  but  I  give  you  notice  I  shall  look 
for  this  boy  in  America,  and  if  you  take  him  else 
where  I  shall  probably  find  it  out." 

"America  is  a  large  country,"  said  Bellenger, 
smiling. 

He  took  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  made  his  adieus. 
The  old  De  Ferrier  deeply  saluted  the  boy  and 
slightly  saluted  his  guardian.  The  other  De  Ferrier 
nodded. 

"We  are  making  a  mistake,  Philippe!"  said  the 
uncle. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  the  nephew.  "He  will  probably 


18  IvAZARRK 

slip  away  at  once  out  of  St:  Bartholomew's.  We 
can  do  nothing  until  we  are  certain  of  the  powers 
behind  him.  Endless  disaster  to  the  child  himself 
might  result  from  our  interference.  If  France  were 
ready  now  to  take  back  her  king,  would  she  accept 
an  imbecile  ?" 

The  old  De  Ferrier  groaned  aloud. 

"Bellenger  is  not  a  bad  man/'  added  Philippe. 

Eagle  watched  her  playmate  until  the  closing  gate 
hid  him  from  sight.  She  remembered  having  once 
implored  her  nurse  for  a  small  plaster  image  dis 
played  in  a  shop.  It  could  not  speak,  nor  move,  nor 
love  her  in  return.  But  she  cried  secretly  all  night 
to  have  it  in  her  arms,  ashamed  of  the  unreasonable 
desire,  but  conscious  that  she  could  not  be  appeased 
by  anything  else.  That  plaster  image  denied  to  her 
symbolized  the  strongest  passion  of  her  life. 

The  pigeons  wheeled  around  St.  Bat's  tower,  or 
strutted  burnished  on  the  wall.  The  bell,  which  she 
had  forgotten  since  sitting  with  the  boy  in  front  of 
the  blacksmith  shop,  again  boomed  out  its  record 
of  time;  though  it  seemed  to  Eagle  that  a  long, 
lonesome  period  like  eternity  had  begun. 


BOOK  I 


AWAKING 


1  REMEMBER  poising  naked  upon  a  rock,  ready 
to  dive  into  Lake  George.  This  memory  stands 
at  the  end  of  a  diminishing  vista;  the  extreme 
point  of  coherent  recollection.  My  body  and  mus 
cular  limbs  reflected  in  the  water  filled  me  with 
savage  pride. 

I  knew,  as  the  beast  knows  its  herd,  that  my 
mother  Marianne  was  hanging  the  pot  over  the  fire 
pit  in  the  center  of  our  lodge;  the  children  were 
playing  with  other  papooses;  and  my  father  was 
hunting  down  the  lake.  The  hunting  and  fishing 
were  good,  and  we  had  plenty  of  meat.  Skenedonk, 
whom  I  considered  a  person  belonging  to  myself, 
was  stripping  more  slowly  on  the  rock  behind  me. 
We  were  heated  with  wood  ranging.  Aboriginal  life, 
primeval  and  vigor-giving,  lay  behind  me  when  I 
plunged  expecting  to  strike  out  under  the  delicious 
forest  shadow. 

When  I  came  up  the  sun  had  vanished,  the  woods 
and  their  shadow  were  gone.  So  were  the  Indian 
children  playing  on  the  shore,  and  the  shore  with 
them.  My  mother  Marianne  might  still  be  hanging 
her  pot  in  the  lodge.  But  all  the  hunting  lodges  of 
our  people  were  as  completely  lost  as  if  I  had  en 
tered  another  world. 

My  head  was  bandaged,  as  I  discovered  when  I 
turned  it  to  look  around.  The  walls  were  not  the 

21 


22 


log  walls  of  our  lodge,  chinked  with  moss  and  topped 
by  a  bark  roof.  On  the  contrary  they  were  grander 
than  the  inside  of  St.  Regis  church  where  I  took  my 
first  communion,  though  that  was  built  of  stone. 
These  walls  were  paneled,  as  I  learned  afterward 
to  call  that  noble  finishing,  and  ornamented  with 
pictures,  and  crystal  sockets  for  candles.  The  use 
of  the  crystal  sockets  was  evident,  for  one  shaded 
wax  light  burned  near  me.  The  ceiling  was  not 
composed  of  wooden  beams  like  some  Canadian 
houses,  but  divided  itself  into  panels  also,  reflecting 
the  light  with  a  dark  rosy  shining.  Lace  work  finer 
than  a  priest's  white  garments  fluttered  at  the  win 
dows. 

I  had  dived  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  was 
night.  Instead  of  finding  myself  still  stripped  for 
swimming,  I  had  a  loose  robe  around  me,  and  a  cov 
erlet  drawn  up  to  my  armpits.  The  couch  under  me 
was  by  no  means  of  hemlock  twigs  and  skins,  like 
our  bunks  at  home  :  but  soft  and  rich.  I  wondered  if 
I  had  died  and  gone  to  heaven;  and  just  then  the 
Virgin  moved  past  my  head  and  stood  looking  down 
at  me.  I  started  to  jump  out  of  a  window,  but  felt 
so  little  power  to  move  that  I  only  twitched,  and  pre 
tended  to  be  asleep,  and  watched  her  as  we  sighted 
game,  with  eyes  nearly  shut.  She  had  a  poppet  of 
a  child  on  one  arm  that  sat  up  instead  of  leaning 
against  her  shoulder,  and  looked  at  me,  too.  The 
poppet  had  a  cap  on  its  head,  and  was  dressed  in  lace, 
and  she  wore  a  white  dress  that  let  her  heck  and 
arms  out,  but  covered  her  to  the  ground.  This  was 


KINQ  23 

remarkable,  as  the  Indian  women  covered  their  necks 
and  arms,  and  wore  their  petticoats  short.  I  could 
see  this  image  breathe,  which  was  a  marvel,  and  the 
color  moving  under  her  white  skin.  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  go  through  you  and  search  all  the  veins, 
sending  a  shiver  of  pleasure  down  your  back. 

Now  I  knew  after  the  first  start  that  she  was  a  liv 
ing  girl  holding  a  living  baby,  and  when  my  father, 
Thomas  Williams,  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  room, 
it  was  certain  I  could  not  be  in  heaven.  It  came 
over  me  in  a  flash  that  I  myself  was  changed.  In 
spite  of  the  bandages  my  head  was  as  clear  as  if  all 
its  faculties  were  washed  and  newly  arranged.  I 
could  look  back  into  my  life  and  perceive  things  that 
I  had  only  sensed  as  a  dumb  brute.  A  fish  thawed 
out  after  being  frozen,  and  reanimated  through 
every  sparkling  scale  and  tremulous  fin,  could  not 
have  felt  its  resurrection  more  keenly.  My  broken 
head  gave  me  no  trouble  at  all. 

The  girl  and  baby  disappeared  as  soon  as  I  saw 
my  father;  which  was  not  surprising,  for  he  could 
not  be  called  a  prepossessing  half-breed.  His  lower 
lip  protruded  and  hung  sullenly.  He  had  heavy 
brows  and  a  shaggy  thatch  of  hair.  Our  St.  Regis 
Iroquois  kept  to  the  buckskins,  though  they  often 
had  hunting  shirts  of  fulled  flannel ;  and  my  father's 
buckskins  were  very  dirty. 

A  little  man,  that  I  did  not  know  was  in  the  room, 
shuffled  across  the  floor  to  keep  my  father  from  en 
tering.  Around  the  base  of  his  head  he  had  a  thin 
curtain  of  hair  scarcely  reaching  his  shoulders.  His 


24  L  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

nose  pointed  upward.  Its  tip  was  the  shape  of  a 
candle  extinguisher.  He  wore  horn  spectacles ;  and 
knee  breeches,  waistcoat  and  coat  of  black  like  the 
ink  which  fades  to  brown  in  a  drying  ink-horn.  He 
put  his  hands  together  and  took  them  apart  uncer 
tainly,  and  shot  out  his  lip  and  frowned,  as  if  he 
had  an  universal  grudge  and  dared  not  vent  it. 

He  said  something  in  a  language  I  did  not  under 
stand,  and  my  father  made  no  answer.  Then  he 
began  a  kind  of  Anglo-French,  worse  than  the 
patois  we  used  at  St.  Regis  when  we  did  not  speak 
Iroquois.  I  made  out  the  talk  between  the  two, 
understanding  each  without  hesitation. 

"Sir,  who  are  you?" 

"The  chief,  Thomas  Williams,"  answered  my 
father. 

"Pardon  me,  sir;  but  you  are  unmistakably  an 
Indian." 

"Iroquois  chief,"  said  my  father.    "Mohawk." 

"That  being  the  case,  what  authority  have  you  for 
calling  yourself  Thomas  Williams  ?"  challenged  the 
little  man. 

"Thomas  Williams  is  my  name." 

"Impossible,  sir !  Skenedonk,  the  Oneida,  does  not 
assume  so  much.  He  lays  no  claim  to  William 
Jones  or  John  Smith,  or  some  other  honest  British 
name." 

The  chief  maintained  silent  dignity. 

"Come,  sir,  let  me  have  your  Indian  name !  I  can 
hear  it  if  I  cannot  repeat  it." 


A  W  A  K  I  K  O  25 

Silently  contemptuous,  my  father  turned  toward 
me. 

"Stop,  sir !"  the  man  in  the  horn  spectacles  cried. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  my  boy." 

"Your  boy?    This  lad  is  white." 

"My  grandmother  was  white,"  condescended  the 
chief.  "A  white  prisoner  from  Deerfield.  Eunice 
Williams." 

"I  see,  sir.  You  get  your  Williams  from  the  Yan 
kees.  And  is  this  lad's  mother  white,  too?" 

"No.    Mohawk." 

"Why,  man,  his  body  is  like  milk !  He  is  no  son 
of  yours." 

The  chief  marched  toward  me. 

"Let  him  alone !  If  you  try  to  drag  him  out  of  the 
manor  I  will  appeal  to  the  authority  of  Le  Ray  de 
Chaumont." 

My  father  spoke  to  me  with  sharp  authority — 

"Lazarre !" 

"What  do  you  call  him  ?"  the  little  man  inquired, 
ambling  beside  the  chief. 

"Eleazar  Williams  is  his  name.  But  in  the  lodges, 
at  St.  Regis,  everywhere,  it  is  Lazarre." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"About  eighteen  years." 

"Well,  Thomas  Williams,"  said  my  fretful  guar 
dian,  his  antagonism  melting  to  patronage,  "I  will 
tell  you  who  I  am,  and  then  you  can  feel  no  anxiety. 
I  am  Doctor  Chantry,  physician  to  the  Count  de 
Chaumont.  The  lad  cut  his  head  open  on  a  rock, 


26  Iv  AZ  ARRK 

diving  in  the  lake,  and  has  remained  unconscious 
ever  since.  This  is  partly  due  to  an  opiate  I  have 
administered  to  insure  complete  quiet;  and  he  will 
not  awake  for  several  hours  yet.  He  received  the 
best  surgery  as  soon  as  he  was  brought  here  and 
placed  in  my  hands  by  the  educated  Oneida,  Skene- 
donk." 

"I  was  not  near  the  lodge,"  said  my  father.  "I 
was  down  the  lake,  fishing." 

"I  have  bled  him  once,  and  shall  bleed  him  again ; 
though  the  rock  did  that  pretty  effectually.  But 
these  strapping  young  creatures  need  frequent 
blood-letting." 

The  chief  gave  him  no  thanks,  and  I  myself 
resolved  to  knock  the  little  doctor  down,  if  he  came 
near  me  with  a  knife. 

"In  the  absence  of  Count  de  Chaumont,  Thomas," 
he  proceeded,  "I  may  direct  you  to  go  and  knock  on 
the  cook's  door,  and  ask  for  something  to  eat  before 
you  go  home." 

"I  stay  here,"  responded  my  father. 

"There  is  not  the  slightest  need  of  anybody's 
watching  beside  the  lad  to-night.  I  was  about  to 
retire  when  you  were  permitted  to  enter.  He  is 
sleeping  like  an  infant." 

"He  belongs  to  me,"  the  chief  said. 

Doctor  Chantry  jumped  at  the  chief  in  rage. 

"For  God's  sake,  shut  up  and  go  about  your  busi 
ness!" 

It  was  like  one  of  the  little  dogs  in  our  camp  snap 
ping  at  the  patriarch  of  them  all,  and  recoiling  from 


A  \v  A  K:  i  N  o  27 

a  growl.  My  father's  hand  was  on  his  hunting 
knife;  but  he  grunted  and  said  nothing.  Doctor 
Chantry  himself  withdrew  from  the  room  and  left 
the  Indian  in  possession.  Weak  as  I  was  I  felt  my 
insides  quake  with  laughter.  My  very  first  obser 
vation  of  the  whimsical  being  tickled  me  with  a 
kind  of  foreknowledge  of  all  his  weak  fretfulness. 

My  father  sat  down  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of  my 
couch,  where  the  wax  light  threw  his  shadow, 
exaggerating  its  unmoving  profile.  I  noticed  one  of 
the  chairs  he  disdained  as  useless;  though  when 
eating  or  drinking  with  white  men  he  sat  at  table 
with  them.  The  chair  I  saw  was  one  that  I  faintly 
recognized,  as  furniture  of  some  previous  expe 
rience,  slim  legged,  gracefully  curved,  and  brocaded. 
Brocaded  was  the  word.  I  studied  it  until  I  fell 
asleep. 

The  sun,  shining  through  the  protected  windows, 
instead  of  glaring  into  our  lodge  door,  showed  my 
father  sitting  in  the  same  position  when  I  woke,  and 
Skenedonk  at  my  side.  I  liked  the  educated  Iro- 
quois.  He  was  about  ten  years  my  senior.  He  had 
been  taken  to  France  when  a  stripling,  and  was 
much  bound  to  the  whites,  though  living  with  his 
own  tribe.  Skenedonk  had  the  mildest  brown  eyes 
I  ever  saw  outside  a  deer's  head.  He  was  a  bald 
Indian  with  one  small  scalp  lock.  But  the  just  and 
perfect  dome  to  which  his  close  lying  ears  were 
attached  needed  no  hair  to  adorn  it.  You  felt  glad 
that  nothing  shaded  the  benevolence  of  his  all-over 
forehead.  By  contrast  he  emphasized  the  sullenness 


28 


of  my  father  ;  yet  when  occasion  had  pressed  there 
never  was  a  readier  hand  than  Skenedonk's  to  kill. 

I  tossed  the  cover  back  to  spring  out  of  bed  with 
a  whoop.  But  a  woman  in  a  high  cap  with  ribbons 
hanging  down  to  her  heels,  and  a  dress  short  enough 
to  show  her  shoes,  stepped  into  the  room  and  made 
a  courtesy.  Her  face  fell  easily  into  creases  when 
she  talked,  and  gave  you  the  feeling  that  it  was  too 
soft  of  flesh.  Indeed,  her  eyes  were  cushioned  all 
around.  She  spoke  and  Skenedonk  answered  her  in 
French.  The  meaning  of  every  word  broke  through 
my  mind  as  fire  breaks  through  paper. 

"Madame  de  Ferrier  sent  me  to  inquire  how  the 
young  gentleman  is." 

Skenedonk  lessened  the  rims  around  his  eyes.  My 
father  grunted. 

"Did  Madame  de  Ferrier  say  'the  young  gentle 
man  ?'  "  Skenedonk  inquired. 

"I  was  told  to  inquire.  I  am  her  servant  Ernest 
ine,"  said  the  woman,  her  face  creased  with  the 
anxiety  of  responding  to  questions. 

"Tell  Madame  de  Ferrier  that  the  young  gentle 
man  is  much  better,  and  will  go  home  to  the  lodges 
to-day." 

"She  said  I  was  to  wait  upon  him,  and  give  him 
his  breakfast  under  the  doctor's  direction." 

"Say  with  thanks  to  Madame  de  Ferrier  that  I 
wait  upon  him." 

Ernestine  again  courtesied,  and  made  way  for 
Doctor  Chantry.  He  came  in  quite  good  natured, 
and  greeted  all  of  us,  his  inferiors,  with  a  humility  I 


PCING  29 

then  thought  touching,  but  learned  afterwards  to 
distrust.  My  head  already  felt  the  healing  blood,  and 
I  was  ravenous  for  food.  He  bound  it  with  fresh 
bandages,  and  opened  a  box  full  of  glittering  knives, 
taking  out  a  small  sheath.  From  this  he  made  a 
point  of  steel  spring  like  lightning. 

"We  will  bring  the  wholesome  lancet  again  into 
play,  my  lad,"  said  Doctor  Chantry.  I  waited  in 
uncertainty  with  my  feet  on  the  floor  and  my  hands 
on  the  side  of  the  couch,  while  he  carefully  removed 
coat  and  waistcoat  and  turned  up  his  sleeves. 

"Ernestine,  bring  the  basin/'  he  commanded. 

My  father  may  have  thought  the  doctor  was  about 
to  inflict  a  vicarious  puncture  on  himself.  Skene- 
donk,  with  respect  for  civilized  surgery,  waited.  I 
did  not  wait.  The  operator  bared  me  to  the  elbow 
and  showed  a  piece  of  plaster  already  sticking  on 
my  arm.  The  conviction  of  being  outraged  in  my 
person  came  upon  me  mightily,  and  snatching  the 
wholesome  lancet  I  turned  its  spring  upon  the  doc 
tor.  He  yelled.  I  leaped  through  the  door  like  a 
deer,  and  ran  barefooted,  the  loose  robe  curdling 
above  my  knees.  I  had  the  fleetest  foot  among  the 
Indian  racers,  and  was  going  to  throw  the  garment 
away  for  ';he  pure  joy  of  feeling  the  air  slide  past 
my  naked  body,  when  I  saw  the  girl  and  poppet  baby 
who  had  looked  at  me  during  my  first  consciousness. 
They  we1*e  sitting  on  a  blanket  under  the  trees  of 
De  Chaumont's  park,  which  deepened  into  wilder 
ness. 

The  baby  put  up  a  lip,  and  the  girl  surrounded  it 


30  X,  A  Z  A.  R  R  E> 

with  her  arm,  dividing  her  sympathy  with  me.  I 
must  have  been  a  charming  object.  Though  raven 
ous  for  food  and  broken-headed,  I  forgot  my  state, 
and  turned  off  the  road  of  escape  to  stare  at  her  like 
a  tame  deer. 

She  lowered  her  eyes  wisely,  and  I  got  near 
enough  without  taking  fright  to  see  a  book  spread 
open  on  the  blanket,  showing  two  illuminated  pages. 
Something  parted  in  me.  I  saw  my  mother,  as  I 
had  seen  her  in  some  past  life: — not  Marianne  the 
Mohawk,  wife  of  Thomas  Williams,  but  a  fair  oval- 
faced  mother  with  arched  brows.  I  saw  even  her 
pointed  waist  and  puffed  skirts,  and  the  lace  around 
her  open  neck.  She  held  the  book  in  her  hands  and 
read  to  me  from  it. 

I  dropped  on  my  knees  and  stretched  my  arms 
above  my  head,  crying  aloud  as  women  cry  with 
gasps  and  chokings  in  sudden  bereavement.  Nebu 
lous  memories  twisted  all  around  me  and  I  could 
grasp  nothing.  I  raged  for  what  had  been  mine — 
for  some  high  estate  out  of  which  I  had  fallen  into 
degradation.  I  clawed  the  ground  in  what  must 
have  seemed  convulsions  to  the  girl.  Her  poppet 
cried  and  she  hushed  it. 

"Give  me  my  mother's  book !"  I  strangled  out  of 
the  depths  of  my  throat ;  and  repeated,  as  if  torn  by 
a  devil — "Give  me  my  mother's  book!" 

She  blanched  so  white  that  her  lips  looked  seared, 
and  instead  of  disputing  my  claim,  or  inquiring 
about  my  mother,  or  telling  me  to  begone,  she  was 
up  on  her  feet.  Taking  her  dress  in  her  finger  tips 


A  w  A  K:  i  N  a  3r 

and  settling  back  almost  to  the  ground  in  the  most 
beautiful  obeisance  I  ever  saw,  she  said — 

"Sire!" 

Neither  in  Iroquois  nor  in  Iroquois-French  had 
such  a  name  been  given  to  me  before.  I  had  a  long 
title  signifying  Tree-Cutter,  which  belonged  to 
every  chief  of  our  family.  But  that  word — "Sire !" — 
and  her  deep  reverence  seemed  to  atone  in  some 
way  for  what  I  had  lost.  I  sat  up,  quieting  myself, 
still  moved  as  water  heaves.  She  put  the  missal  on 
the  lap  of  my  single  garment,  and  drew  back 
a  step,  formally  standing.  My  scarred  ankles,  at 
which  the  Indian  children  used  to  point,  were  ex 
posed  to  her  gaze,  for  I  never  would  sit  on  them 
after  the  manner  of  the  tribe.  There  was  no 
restraining  the  tears  that  ran  down  my  face.  She 
might  have  mocked  me,  but  she  remained  white  and 
quiet;  while  I  sat  as  dumb  as  a  dog,  and  as  full  of 
unuttered  speech.  Looking  back  now  I  can  see 
what  passionate  necessity  shook  me  with  throbs 
to  be  the  equal  of  her  who  had  received  me  as  a 
superior. 

De  Chaumont's  manor  house,  facing  a  winding 
avenue,  could  be  seen  from,  where  we  were.  It  was 
of  stone,  built  to  enclose  a  court  on  three  sides,  in 
the  form  that  I  afterwards  recognized  as  that  of 
French  palaces.  There  were  a  great  many  flowers 
in  the  court,  and  vines  covered  the  ends  of  the  wings. 
All  those  misty  half  remembered  hunting  seasons 
that  I  had  spent  on  Lake  George  were  not  without 
some  knowledge.  The  chimneys  and  roofs  of  Le 


32  IvAZARRK 

Ray  de  Chaumont's  manor  often  looked  at  me 
through  trees  as  I  steered  my  boat  among  the  is 
lands.  He  was  a  great  land  owner,  having  more 
than  three  hundred  thousand  acres  of  wilderness. 
And  he  was  friendly  with  both  Indians  and  Ameri 
cans.  His  figure  did  not  mean  much  to  me  when  I 
saw  it,  being  merely  a  type  of  wealth,  and  wealth 
extends  little  power  into  the  wilderness. 

The  poppet  of  a  child  climbed  up  and  held  to  the 
girl's  dress.  She  stooped  over  and  kissed  it,  saying, 
"Sit  down,  Paul."  The  toy  human  being  seemed 
full  of  intelligence,  and  after  the  first  protest  exam 
ined  me  fearlessly,  with  enchanting  smiles  about  the 
mouth  and  eyes.  I  noticed  even  then  an  upward 
curling  of  the  mouth  corners  and  a  kind  of  magic 
in  the  liquid  blue  gaze,  of  which  Paul  might  never 
be  conscious,  but  which  would  work  on  every  be 
holder. 

That  a  child  should  be  the  appendage  of  such  a 
very  young  creature  as  the  girl,  surprised  me  no 
more  than  if  it  had  been  a  fawn  or  a  dog.  In  the 
vivid  moments  of  my  first  rousing  to  life  I  had  seen 
her  with  Paul  in  her  arms;  and  he  remained  part 
of  her. 

We  heard  a  rush  of  horses  up  the  avenue,  and  out 
of  the  woods  came  Le  Ray  de  Chaumont  and  his 
groom,  the  wealthy  land  owner  equipped  in  gentle 
man's  riding  dress  from  his  spurs  to  his  hat.  He 
made  a  fine  show,  whip  hand  on  his  hip  and  back 
erect  as  a  pine  tree.  He  was  a  man  in  middle  life, 
but  he  reined  up  and  dismounted  with  the  swift 


A  W  A.  K  I  N  G  33 

agility  of  a  youth,  and  sent  his  horse  away  with  the 
groom,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  girl  run  across  the 
grass  to  meet  him.  Taking  her  hand  he  bowed  over 
it  and  kissed  it  with  pleasing  ceremony,  of  which  I 
approved.  An  Iroquois  chief  in  full  council  had 
not  better  manners  than  Le  Ray  de  Chaumont. 

Paul  and  I  waited  to  see  what  was  going  to  hap 
pen,  for  the  two  came  toward  us,  the  girl  talking 
rapidly  to  the  man.  I  saw  my  father  and  Skenedonk 
and  the  doctor  also  coming  from  the  house,  and  they 
readily  spied  me  sitting  tame  as  a  rabbit  near  the 
baby. 

You  never  can  perceive  yourself  what  figure  you 
are  making  in  the  world:  for  when  you  think  you 
are  the  admired  of  all  eyes  you  may  be  displaying  a 
fool ;  and  when  life  seems  prostrated  in  you  it  may 
be  that  you  show  as  a  monument  on  the  heights. 
But  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  De  Chaumont's  opin 
ion  of  me.  He  pointed  his  whip  handle  at  me,  ex 
claiming — 

"What! — that  scarecrow,  madame?" 


II 


tt  T)  UT  look  at  him,"  she  urged. 

D    "I   recognize   first,"    said   De   Chaumont 
as  he  sauntered,  "an  old  robe  of  my  own." 

"His  mother  was  reduced  to  coarse  serge,  I  have 
been  told." 

"You  speak  of  an  august  lady,  my  dear  Eagle. 
But  this  is  Chief  Williams'  boy.  He  has  been  at 
the  hunting  lodges  every  summer  since  I  came  intc 
the  wilderness.  There  you  see  his  father,  the  half- 
breed  Mohawk." 

"I  saw  the  dauphin  in  London,  count.  I  was  a 
little  child,  but  his  scarred  ankles  and  wrists  and 
forehead  are  not  easily  forgotten." 

"The  dauphin  died  in  the  Temple,  Eagle." 

"My  father  and  Philippe  never  believed  that." 

"Your  father  and  Philippe  were  very  mad  royal 
ists." 

"And  you  have  gone  over  to  Bonaparte.  The> 
said  that  boy  had  all  the  traits  of  the  Bourbons,  even 
to  the  shaping  of  his  ear." 

"A  Bourbon  ear  hears  nothing  but  Bonaparte  in 
these  days,"  said  De  Chaumont.  "How  do  you  know 
this  is  the  same  boy  you  saw  in  London?" 

"Last  night  while  he  was  lying  unconscious,  after 
Doctor  Chantry  had  bandaged  his  head  and  bled 
him,  I  went  in  to  see  if  I  might  be  of  use.  He  was 
34 


AWAKING  35 

like  some  one  I  had  seen.  But  I  did  not  know  him 
until  a  moment  ago.  He  ran  out  of  the  house  like  a 
wild  Indian.  Then  he  saw  us  sitting  here,  and  came 
and  fell  down  on  his  knees  at  sight  of  that  missal.  I 
saw  his  scars.  He  claimed  the  book  as  his  mother's 
— and  you  know,  count,  it  was  his  mother's !" 

"My  dear  child,  whenever  an  Indian  wants  a  pres 
ent  he  dreams  that  you  give  it  to  him,  or  he  claims 
it.  Chief  Williams'  boy  wanted  your  valuable  illum 
inated  book.  I  only  wonder  he  had  the  taste.  The 
rings  on  your  hands  are  more  to  an  Indian's  lik- 
ing." 

"But  he  is  not  an  Indian,  count.  He  is  as  white 
as  we  are." 

"That  signifies  nothing.  Plenty  of  white  children 
have  been  brought  up  among  the  tribes.  Chief  Wil 
liams'  grandmother,  I  have  heard,  was  a  Yankee 
woman." 

Not  one  word  of  their  rapid  talk  escaped  an  ear 
trained  to  faintest  noises  in  the  woods.  I  felt  like  a 
tree,  well  set  up  and  sound,  but  rooted  and  voiceless 
in  my  ignorant  helplessness  before  the  two  so  frankly 
considering  me. 

My  father  stopped  when  he  saw  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier,  and  called  to  me  in  Iroquois.  It  was  plain  that 
he  and  Doctor  Chantry  disagreed.  Skenedonk,  put 
out  of  countenance  by  my  behavior,  and  the  stub 
bornness  of  the  chief,  looked  ready  to  lay  his  hand 
upon  his  mouth  in  sign  of  being  confounded  before 
white  men;  for  his  learning  had  altered  none  of  his 
inherited  instincts. 


36  £,  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

But  as  for  me,  I  was  as  De  Chaumont  had  said, 
Chief  Williams'  boy,  faint  from  blood  letting  and 
twenty- four  hours'  fasting;  and  the  father's  com 
mand  reminded  me  of  the  mother's  dinner  pot.  I 
stood  up  erect  and  drew  the  flowered  silk  robe 
around  me.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  walk  on 
burning  coals,  but  I  felt  obliged  to  return  the  book 
to  Madame  de  Ferrier.  She  would  not  take  it.  I 
closed  her  grasp  upon  it,  and  stooping,  saluted  her 
hand  with  courtesy  as  De  Chaumont  had  done.  If 
he  had  roared  I  must  have  done  this  devoir.  But  all 
he  did  was  to  widen  his  eyes  and  strike  his  leg  with 
his  riding  whip. 

My  father  and  I  seldom  talked.  An  Indian  boy 
who  lives  in  water  and  forest  all  summer  and  on 
snowshoes  all  winter,  finds  talk  enough  in  the  nat 
ural  world  without  falling  back  upon  his  family. 
Dignified  manners  were  not  lacking  among  my  eld 
ers,  but  speech  had  seemed  of  little  account  to  me 
before  this  day. 

The  chief  paddled  and  I  sat  naked  in  our  canoe ; — 
for  we  left  the  flowered  robe  with  a  horse-boy  at 
the  stables ; — the  sun  warm  upon  my  skin,  the  lake's 
blue  glamour  affecting  me  like  enchantment. 

Neither  love  nor  aversion  was  associated  with  my 
father.  I  took  my  head  between  my  hands  and  tried 
to  remember  a  face  that  was  associated  with  aver 
sion. 

"Father,"  I  inquired,  "was  anybody  ever  very 
cruel  to  me  ?" 

He  looked  startled,  but  spoke  harshly. 


A  W  A  K  I  N  O  37 

"What  have  you  got  in  your  head?  These  white 
people  have  been  making  a  fool  of  you." 

"I  remember  better  to-day  than  I  ever  remembered 
before.  I  am  different.  I  was  a  child:  but  to-day 
manhood  has  come.  Father,  what  is  a  dauphin  ?" 

The  chief  made  no  answer. 

"What  is  a  temple?  Is  it  a  church,  like  ours  at 
St.  Regis?" 

"Ask  the  priest." 

"Do  you  know  what  Bourbon  is,  father, — particu 
larly  a  Bourbon  ear?" 

"Nothing  that  concerns  you." 

"But  how  could  I  have  a  Bourbon  ear  if  it  didn't 
concern  me?" 

"Who  said  you  had  such  an  ear  ?" 

"Madame  de  Ferrier." 

The  chief  grunted. 

"At  least  she  told  De  Chaumont,"  I  repeated  ex 
actly,  "I  was  the  boy  she  saw  in  London,  that  her 
father  said  had  all  the  traits  of  the  Bourbons.  Where 
is  London?" 

The  chief  paddled  without  replying.  Finding  him 
so  ignorant  on  all  points  of  the  conversation,  or  so 
determined  to  put  me  down,  I  gazed  awhile  at  our 
shadow  gliding  in  the  water,  and  then  began  again. 

"Father,  do  you  happen  to  know  who  Bonaparte 
is?" 

This  time  he  answered. 

"Bonaparte  is  a  great  soldier." 

"Is  he  a  white  man  or  an  Indian  ?" 

"He  is  a  Frenchman." 


38  IvAZARRR 

I  meditated  on  the  Frenchmen  I  dimly  remem 
bered  about  St.  Regis.  They  were  undersized  fel 
lows,  very  apt  to  weep  when  their  emotions  were 
stirred.  I  could  whip  them  all. 

"Did  he  ever  come  to  St.  Regis  ?" 

The  chief  again  grunted. 

"Does  France  come  to  St.  Regis?"  he  retorted 
with  an  impatient  question. 

"What  is  France,  father?" 

"A  country." 

"Shall  we  ever  go  there  to  hunt?" 

"Shall  we  ever  go  the  other  side  of  the  sunrise 
to  hunt?  France  is  the  other  side  of  the  sunrise. 
Talk  to  the  squaws." 

Though  rebuked,  I  determined  to  do  it  if  any 
information  could  be  got  out  of  them.  The  desire 
to  know  things  was  consuming.  I  had  the  belated 
feeling  of  one  who  waked  to  consciousness  late  in 
life  and  found  the  world  had  run  away  from  him. 
The  camp  seemed  strange,  as  if  I  had  been  gone 
many  years,  but  every  object  was  so  wonderfully 
distinct. 

My  mother  Marianne  fed  me,  and  when  I  lay 
down  dizzy  in  the  bunk,  covered  me.  The  family 
must  have  thought  it  was  natural  sleep.  But  it  was 
a  fainting  collapse,  which  took  me  more  than  once 
afterwards  as  suddenly  as  a  blow  on  the  head,  when 
my  faculties  were  most  needed.  Whether  this  was 
caused  by  the  plunge  upon  the  rock  or  the  dim  life 
from  which  I  had  emerged,  I  do  not  know.  One 
moment  I  saw  the  children,  and  mothers  from  the 


A  W  A  K:  I  N  O  39 

neighboring  lodges,  more  interested  than  my  own 
mother:  our  smoky  rafters,  and  the  fire  pit  in  the 
center  of  unfloored  ground:  my  clothes  hanging 
over  the  bunk,  and  even  a  dog  with  his  nose  in  the 
kettle.  And  then,  as  it  had  been  the  night  before, 
I  waked  after  many  hours. 

By  that  time  the  family  breathing  sawed  the  air 
within  the  walls,  and  a  fine  starlight  showed  through 
the  open  door,  for  we  had  no  window.  Outside  the 
oak  trees  were  pattering  their  leaves  like  rain,  re 
minding  me  of  our  cool  spring  in  the  woods.  My 
bandaged  head  was  very  hot,  in  that  dark  lair  of 
animals  where  the  log  bunks  stretched  and  deep 
ened  shadow. 

If  Skenedonk  had  been  there  I  would  have  asked 
him  to  bring  me  water,  with  confidence  in  his  nat 
ural  service.  The  chief's  family  was  a  large  one, 
but  not  one  of  my  brothers  and  sisters  seemed  as 
near  to  me  as  Skenedonk.  The  apathy  of  fraternal 
attachment  never  caused  me  any  pain.  The  whole 
tribe  was  held  dear. 

I  stripped  off  Doctor  Chantry's  unendurable 
bandages,  and  put  on  my  clothes,  for  there  were 
brambles  along  the  path.  The  lodges  and  the  dogs 
were  still,  and  I  crept  like  a  hunter  after  game,  to 
avoid  waking  them.  Our  village  was  an  irregular 
camp,  each  house  standing  where  its  owner  had 
pleased  to  build  it  on  the  lake  shore.  Behind  it 
the  blackness  of  wooded  wilderness  seemed  to 
stretch  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

The  spring  made  a  distinct  tinkle  in  the  rush  of 


40  LAZARRK 

low  sound  through  the  forest.  A  rank  night  sweet 
ness  of  mints  and  other  lush  plants  mixed  its  spirit 
with  the  body  of  leaf  earth.  I  felt  happy  in  being  a 
part  of  all  this,  and  the  woods  were  to  me  as  safe  as 
the  bed-chamber  of  a  mother.  It  was  fine  to  wallow, 
damming  the  span  of  escaping  water  with  my 
fevered  head.  Physical  relief  and  delicious  shud 
dering  coolness  ran  through  me. 

From  that  wet  pillow  I  looked  up  and  thought 
again  of  what  had  happened  that  day,  and  particu 
larly  of  the  girl  whom  De  Chaumont  had  called 
Madame  de  Ferrier  and  Eagle.  Every  word  that 
she  had  spoken  passed  again  before  my  mind.  Pos 
sibilities  that  I  had  never  imagined  rayed  out  from 
my  recumbent  body  as  from  the  hub  of  a  vast  wheel. 
I  was  white.  I  was  not  an  Indian.  I  had  a  Bourbon 
ear.  She  believed  I  was  a  dauphin.  What  was  a 
dauphin,  that  she  should  make  such  a  deep  obeis 
ance  to  it  ?  My  father  the  chief,  recommending  me 
to  the  squaws,  had  appeared  to  know  nothing  about 
it. 

All  that  she  believed  De  Chaumont  denied.  The 
rich  book  which  stirred  such  torment  in  me — "you 
know  it  was  his  mother's !"  she  said — De  Chaumont 
thought  I  merely  coveted.  I  can  see  now  that  the 
crude  half-savage  boy  wallowing  in  the  spring 
stream,  set  that  woman  as  high  as  the  highest  star 
above  his  head,  and  made  her  the  hope  and  symbol 
of  his  possible  best. 

A  woman's  long  cry,  like  the  appeal  of  that  one 
on  whom  he  meditated,  echoed  through  the  woods 
and  startled  him  out  of  his  wallowo 


Ill 


I  SAT  up  with  the  water  trickling  down  my  back. 
The  cry  was  repeated,  out  of  the  west. 

I  knew  the  woods,  but  night  alters  the  most 
familiar  places.  It  was  so  dark  in  vaults  and  tunnels 
of  trees  and  thickets  that  I  might  have  burrowed 
through  the  ground  almost  as  easily  as  thresh  a 
path.  The  million  scarcely  audible  noises  that  fill 
a  forest  surrounded  me,  and  twigs  not  broken  by  me 
cracked  or  shook.  Still  I  made  directly  toward  the 
woman's  voice  which  guided  me  more  plainly;  but 
left  off  running  as  my  ear  detected  that  she  was 
only  in  perplexity.  She  called  at  intervals,  impera 
tively  but  not  in  continuous  screams.  She  was  a 
white  woman;  for  no  squaw  would  publish  her  dis 
comfort.  A  squaw  if  lost  would  camp  sensibly  on  a 
bed  of  leaves,  and  find  her  way  back  to  the  village 
in  the  morning.  The  wilderness  was  full  of  dangers, 
but  when  you  are  elder  brother  to  the  bear  and  the 
wildcat  you  learn  their  habits,  and  avoid  or  outwit 
them. 

Climbing  over  rocks  and  windfalls  I  came  against 
a  solid  log  wall  and  heard  the  woman  talking  in  a 
very  pretty  chatter  the  other  side  of  it.  She  only 
left  off  talking  to  call  for  help,  and  left  off  calling 
for  help  to  scold  and  laugh  again.  There  was  a  man 
imprisoned  with  her,  and  they  were  speaking  Eng- 


42  L  AZ  ARRK 

lish,  a  language  I  did  not  then  understand.  But 
what  had  happened  to  them  was  very  plain.  They 
had  wandered  into  a  pen  built  by  hunters  to  trap 
bears,  and  could  not  find  the  bush-masked  and  wind 
ing  opening,  but  were  traveling  around  the  walls. 
It  was  lucky  for  them  that  a  bear  had  not  arrived 
first,  though  in  that  case  their  horses  must  have 
smelled  him.  I  heard  the  beasts  shaking  their  bri 
dles. 

I  found  my  way  to  the  opening,  and  whistled.  At 
once  the  woman  ceased  her  chatter  and  drew  in  her 
breath,  and  they  both  asked  me  a  question  that 
needed  no  interpretation.  I  told  them  where  they 
were,  and  the  woman  began  talking  at  once  in  my 
own  tongue  and  spoke  it  as  well  as  I  could  myself. 

"In  a  bear  pen  ?  George,  he  says  we  are  in  a  bear 
pen !  Take  us  out,  dear  chief,  before  the  bear  family 
arrive  home  from  their  ball.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  are  a  chief  or  not,  but  most  Indians  are.  My 
nurse  was  a  chief's  daughter.  Where  are  you?  I 
can't  see  anything  but  chunks  of  blackness." 

I  took  her  horse  by  the  bridle  and  led  him,  and  so 
got  both  the  riders  outside.  They  had  no  tinder,  and 
neither  had  I ;  and  all  of  us  groped  for  the  way  by 
which  they  had  come  to  the  bear  pen.  The  young 
man  spurred  his  horse  in  every  direction,  and  turned 
back  unable  to  get  through. 

Though  we  could  not  see  one  another  I  knew  that 
both  the  adventurers  were  young,  and  that  they 
expected  to  be  called  to  severe  account  for  the  law 
less  act  they  were  committing.  The  girl,  talking 


A  W  A  K:  I  N  O  43 

English,  or  French,  or  Mohawk  almost  in  one  breath, 
took  the  blame  upon  herself  and  made  light  of  the 
boy's  self-reproaches. 

She  laughed  and  said — "My  father  thinks  I  am 
with  Miss  Chantry,  and  Miss  Chantry  thinks  I  am 
with  my  father.  He  will  blame  her  for  letting  me 
ride  with  George  Croghan  to  meet  him,  and  lose  the 
way  and  so  get  into  the  bear  pen.  And  she  will 
blame  my  father,  and  your  dearest  Annabel  will  let 
the  Count  de  Chaumont  and  Miss  Chantry  fight  it 
out.  It  is  not  an  affair  for  youth  to  meddle  with, 
George." 

Having  her  for  interpreter  the  boy  and  I  con 
sulted.  I  might  have  led  him  back  to  our  hunting 
camp,  but  it  was  a  hard  road  for  a  woman  and  an 
impossible  one  for  horses.  There  was  no  inhabited 
house  nearer  than  De  Chaumont's  own.  He  decided 
they  must  return  to  the  road  by  which  they  had  come 
into  the  bear  pen,  and  gladly  accepted  my  offer  to  go 
with  him;  dismounting  and  leading  Annabel  de 
Chaumont's  horse  while  I  led  his.  We  passed  over 
rotten  logs  and  through  black  tangles,  the  girl  bend 
ing  to  her  saddle  bow,  unwearied  and  full  of  laugh- 
ten  It  was  plain  that  he  could  not  find  any  outlet, 
and  falling  behind  with  the  cumbered  horse  he  let  me 
guide  the  party. 

I  do  not  know  by  what  instinct  I  felt  my  way,  con 
scious  of  slipping  between  the  wild  citizens  of  that 
vast  town  of  trees ;  but  we  finally  reached  a  clearing 
and  saw  across  the  open  space  a  lighted  cabin.  Its 
sashless  windows  and  defective  chinks  were  gilded 


with  the  yellow  light  that  comes  from  a  glowing 
hearth. 

"I  know  this  place!"  exclaimed  Annabel.  "It  is 
where  the  Saint-Michels  used  to  live  before  they 
went  to  my  father's  settlement  at  Le  Rayville.  Look 
at  the  house !  Nobody  lives  there.  It  must  be  full 
of  witches." 

Violin  music  testified  that  the  witches  were  merry. 
We  halted,  and  the  horses  neighed  and  were  an 
swered  by  others  of  their  kind. 

"George  Croghan's  grandmother  was  struck  by 
a  witch  ball.  And  here  her  grandson  stands,  too 
tired  to  run.  But  perhaps  there  aren't  any  witches 
in  the  house.  I  don't  believe  wicked  things  would 
be  allowed  to  enter  it.  The  Saint-Michels  were  so 
pious,  and  ugly,  and  resigned  to  the  poverty  of  refu 
gees.  Their  society  was  so  good  for  me,  my  mother, 
when  she  was  alive,  made  me  venerate  them  until  I 
hated  them.  Holy  Sophie  died  and  went  to  heaven. 
I  shall  never  see  her  again.  She  was,  indeed,  excel 
lent.  This  can't  be  a  nest  of  witches.  George,  why 
don't  you  go  and  knock  on  the  door?" 

It  was  not  necessary,  for  the  door  opened  and  a 
man  appeared,  holding  his  violin  by  the  neck.  He 
stepped  out  to  look  around  the  cabin  at  some  horses 
fastened  there,  and  saw  and  hailed  us. 

I  was  not  sorry  to  be  allowed  to  enter,  for  I  was 
tired  to  exhaustion,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor  away 
from  the  fire.  The  man  looked  at  me  suspiciously, 
though  he  was  ruddy  and  good  natured.  But  he 
bent  quite  over  before  De  Chaumont's  daughter, 


AWAKING  45 

and  made  a  flourish  with  his  hand  in  receiving 
young  Croghan.  There  were  in  the  cabin  with  him 
two  women  and  two  little  girls;  and  a  Canadian 
servant  like  a  fat  brown  bear  came  from  the  rear 
of  the  house  to  look  at  us  and  then  went  back  to 
the  horses. 

All  the  women  began  to  speak,  but  Annabel  de 
Chaumont  could  talk  faster  than  the  four  others 
combined,  so  they  knew  our  plight  before  we  learned 
that  they  were  the  Grignon  and  Tank  families,  who 
were  going  into  the  west  to  find  settlement  and  had 
made  the  house  their  camp  for  one  night.  The 
Dutch  maid,  dark  and  round-eyed,  and  the  flaxen 
little  Grignon,  had  respect  for  their  elders  and  held 
their  tongues  while  Madame  Tank  and  Madame 
Grignon  spoke,  but  Annabel  de  Chaumont  was  like 
a  grove  of  sparrows.  The  world  seemed  swarming 
with  young  maids.  The  travelers  were  mere  chil 
dren,  while  the  count's  daughter  was  startling  as  an 
angel.  Her  clothing  fitted  her  body  like  an  exquisite 
sheath.  I  do  not  know  what  it  was,  but  it  made  her 
look  as  slim  as  a  dragon  fly.  Her  white  and  rose 
pink  face  had  a  high  arched  nose,  and  was  proud  and 
saucy.  She  wore  her  hair  beaten  out  like  mist,  with 
rich  curly  shreds  hanging  in  front  of  her  ears  to 
her  shoulders.  She  shook  her  head  to  set  her  hat 
straight,  and  turned  her  eyes  in  rapid  smiling  sweeps. 
I  knew  as  well  then  as  I  ever  did  afterwards  that  she 
was  bound  to  befool  every  man  that  came  near  her. 

There  were  only  two  benches  in  the  cabin,  but  it 
was  floored  and  better  made  than  our  hunting  lodges. 


46  LA2SARRK 

The  temporary  inmates  and  their  guests  sat  down  in 
a  long  row  before  the  fire.  I  was  glad  to  make  a 
pillow  of  a  saddle  near  the  wall,  and  watch  their 
backs,  as  an  outsider.  Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont 
absorbed  all  eyes  and  all  attention.  She  told  about 
a  ball,  to  which  she  had  ridden  with  her  governess 
and  servants  a  three  days'  journey,  and  from  which 
all  the  dancers  were  riding  back  a  three  days'  jour 
ney  to  join  in  another  ball  at  her  father's  house. 
[With  the  hospitality  which  made  Le  Ray  de  Chau- 
mont's  manor  the  palace  of  the  wilderness  as  it  ex 
isted  then,  she  invited  the  hosts  who  sheltered  her 
for  the  night,  to  come  to  the  ball  and  stay  all  summer. 
And  they  lamented  that  they  could  not  accept  the 
invitation,  being  obliged  to  hurry  on  to  Albany, 
where  a  larger  party  would  give  them  escort  on  a 
long  westward  journey. 

The  head  of  the  house  took  up  his  bow,  as  if  mus 
ing  on  the  ball,  and  Annabel  de  Chaumont  wriggled 
her  feet  faster  and  faster.  Tireless  as  thistledown 
that  rolls  here  and  there  at  the  will  of  the  wind,  up 
she  sprang  and  began  to  dance.  The  children 
watched  her  spellbound.  None  of  us  had  ever  seen 
the  many  figures  through  which  she  passed,  or  such 
wonderful  dancing.  The  chimney  was  built  of  logs 
and  clay,  forming  terraces.  As  if  it  was  no  longer 
possible  for  her  to  stay  on  the  ground  she  darted 
from  the  bench-end  to  the  lowest  log,  and  stepped 
on  up  as  fearlessly  as  a  thing  of  air,  until  her  head 
touched  the  roof.  Monsieur  Grignon  played  like 
mad,  and  the  others  clapped  their  hands.  While 


A  W  A  K  I  N  G  47 

she  poised  so  I  sat  up  ( o  watch  her,  and  she  noticed 
me  for  the  first  time  by  firelight. 

"Look  at  that  boy — he  has  been  hurt — the  blood 
is  running  down  his  cheek !"  she  cried.  "I  thought 
he  was  an  Indian — and  he  is  white !" 

She  came  down  as  lightly  as  she  had  gone  up,  and 
caused  me  to  be  haled  against  my  will  to  the  middle 
of  a  bench.  I  wanted  the  women  to  leave  me  alone, 
and  told  them  my  head  had  been  broken  two  days 
before,  and  was  nearly  well.  The  mothers,  too  keen 
to  wash  and  bandage  to  let  me  escape,  opened  a  sad 
dle  pack  and  tore  good  linen. 

George  Croghan  stood  by  the  chimney,  slim  and 
tall  and  handsome.  His  head  and  face  were  long, 
his  hair  was  of  a  sunny  color,  and  his  mouth  corners 
were  shrewd  and  good  natured.  I  liked  him  the 
moment  I  saw  him.  Younger  in  years  than  I,  he 
was  older  in  wit  and  manly  carriage.  While  he 
looked  on  it  was  hard  to  have  Madame  Tank  seize 
my  head  in  her  hands  and  examine  my  eyebrow. 
She  next  took  my  wrists,  and  not  satisfied,  stripped 
up  the  right  sleeve  and  exposed  a  crescent-shaped 
scar,  one  of  the  rare  vaccination  marks  of  those  days. 
I  did  not  know  what  it  was.  Her  animated  dark 
eyes  drew  the  brows  together  so  that  a  pucker  came 
between  them.  I  looked  at  Croghan,  and  wanted  to 
exclaim — "Help  yourself!  Anybody  may  handle 
me!" 

"Ursule  Grignon !"  she  said  sharply,  and  Madame 
Grignon  answered, 

"Eh,  what,  Katarina?" 


48  I*  A  Z,  A  R  R  K 

"This  is  the  boy." 

"But  what  boy?" 

"The  boy  I  saw  on  the  ship/' 

"The  one  who  was  sent  to  America — " 

Madame  Tank  put  up  her  hand,  and  the  other 
stopped. 

"But  that  was  a  child,"  Madame  Grignon  then 
objected. 

"Nine  years  ago.  He  would  be  about  eighteen 
now." 

"How  old  are  you?"  they  both  put  to  me. 

Remembering  what  my  father  had  told  Doctor 
Chantry,  I  was  obliged  to  own  that  I  was  about 
eighteen.  Annabel  de  Chaumont  sat  on  the  lowest 
log  of  the  chimney  with  her  feet  on  a  bench,  and 
her  chin  in  her  hand,  interested  to  the  point  of 
silence.  Something  in  her  eyes  made  it  very  gall 
ing  to  be  overhauled  and  have  my  blemishes  enu 
merated  before  her  and  Croghan.  What  had 
uplifted  me  to  Madame  de  Ferrier's  recognition 
now  mocked,  and  I  found  it  hard  to  submit.  It 
would  not  go  well  with  the  next  stranger  who 
declared  he  knew  me  by  my  scars. 

"What  do  they  call  you  in  this  country  ?"  inquired 
Madame  Tank. 

I  said  my  name  was  Lazarre  Williams. 

"It  is  not !"  she  said  in  an  undertone,  shaking  her 
head. 

I  made  bold  to  ask  with  some  warmth  what  my 
name  was  then,  and  she  whispered — "Poor  child !" 

It  seemed  that  I  was  to  be  pitied  in  any  case,    In 


A  \v  A  K:  i  N  o  49 

dim  self-knowledge  I  saw  that  the  core  of  my  resent 
ment  was  her  treating  me  with  commiseration. 
Madame  de  Ferrier  had  not  treated  me  so. 

"You  live  among  the  Indians?"  Madame  Tank 
resumed. 

The  fact  was  evident. 

"Have  they  been  kind  to  you?" 

I  said  they  had. 

Madame  Tank's  young 'daughter  edged  near  her 
and  inquired  in  a  whisper, 

"Who  is  he,  mother?" 

"Hush!"  answered  Madame  Tank. 

The  head  of  the  party  laid  down  his  violin  and 
bow,  and  explained  to  us : 

"Madame  Tank  was  maid  of  honor  to  the  queen 
of  Holland,  before  reverses  overtook  her.  She 
knows  court  secrets." 

"But  she  might  at  least  tell  us,"  coaxed  Annabel, 
"if  this  Mohawk  is  a  Dutchman." 

Madame  Tank  said  nothing. 

"What  could  happen  in  the  court  of  Holland  ?  The 
Dutch  are  slow  coaches.  I  saw  the  Van  Rensselaers 
once,  near  Albany,  riding  in  a  wagon  with  straw 
under  their  feet,  on  common  chairs,  the  old  Patroon 
himself  driving.  This  boy  is  some  off-scouring/' 

"He  outranks  you,  mademoiselle,"  retorted  Ma 
dame  Tank, 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  find  out,"  said  Anna 
bel. 

I  kept  half  an  eye  on  Croghan  to  see  what  he 
thought  of  all  this  woman  talk.  For  you  cannot  help 


50  lv  A  2$  A  R  R  E; 

being  more  dominated  by  the  opinion  of  your  con 
temporaries  than  by  that  of  the  fore-running  or 
following  generation.  He  held  his  countenance  in 
excellent  command,  and  did  not  meddle  even  by  a 
word.  You  could  be  sure,  however,  that  he  was  no 
credulous  person  who  accepted  everything  that  was 
said  to  him. 

Madame  Tank  looked  into  the  reddened  fireplace, 
and  began  to  speak,  but  hesitated.  The  whole  thing 
was  weird,  like  a  dream  resulting  from  the  cut  on 
my  head:  the  strange  white  faces;  the  camp  stuff 
and  saddlebags  unpacked  from  horses ;  the  light  on 
the  coarse  floor ;  the  children  listening  as  to  a  ghost 
story;  Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  presiding  over 
it  all.  The  cabin  had  an  arched  roof  and  no  loft. 
The  top  was  full  of  shadows. 

"If  you  are  the  boy  I  take  you  to  be,"  Madame 
Tank  finally  said,  sinking  her  voice,  "you  may  find 
you  have  enemies." 

"If  I  am  the  boy  you  take  me  to  be,  madame, 
who  am  I?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  wish  I  had  not  spoken  at  all.  To  tell  you  any 
thing  more  would  only  plunge  you  into  trouble.  You 
are  better  off  to  be  as  you  are,  than  to  know  the 
truth  and  suffer  from  it.  Besides,  I  may  be  mis 
taken.  And  I  am  certainly  too  helpless  myself  to 
be  of  any  use  to  you.  This  much  I  will  say :  when 
you  are  older,  if  things  occur  that  make  it  necessary 
for  you  to  know  what  I  know,  send  a  letter  to  me, 
and  I  will  write  it  down," 


AW  AKI  NO  51 

With  delicacy  Monsieur  Grignon  began  to  play  a 
whisper  of  a  tune  on  his  violin.  I  did  not  know  what 
she  meant  by  a  letter,  though  I  understood  hen 
Madame  Tank  spoke  the  language  as  well  as  any 
body.  I  thought  then,  as  idiom  after  idiom  rushed 
back  on  my  memory,  that  it  was  an  universal  lan 
guage,  with  the  exception  of  Iroquois  and  English. 

"We  are  going  to  a  place  called  Green  Bay,  in  the 
Northwest  Territory.  Remember  the  name :  Green 
Bay.  It  is  in  the  Wisconsin  country." 


IV. 


DAWN  found  me  lying  wide  awake  with  my 
head  on  a  saddle.  I  slipped  out  into  the 
dewy  half  light. 

That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  thought  about  the 
mountains.  They  seemed  to  be  newly  created, 
standing  up  with  streamers  of  mist  torn  and  floating 
across  their  breasts.  The  winding  cliff-bound  lake 
was  like  a  gorge  of  smoke.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  reared 
upon  my  hind  feet,  lifting  my  face  from  the  ground 
to  discover  there  was  a  God.  Some  of  the  prayers 
our  priest  had  industriously  beaten  into  my  head, 
began  to  repeat  themselves.  In  a  twinkling  I  was 
a  child,  lonely  in  the  universe,  separated  from  my 
dim  old  life,  instinct  with  growth,  yet  ignorant  of 
my  own  needs. 

What  Madame  de  Ferrier  and  Madame  Tank  had 
said  influenced  me  less  than  the  intense  life  of  my 
roused  activities. 

It  was  mid  forenoon  by  the  sun  when  I  reached 
our  lodges,  and  sat  down  fagged  outside  my  fath 
er's  door,  to  think  longer  before  I  entered.  Hunger 
was  the  principal  sensation,  though  we  had  eaten  in 
the  cabin  the  night  before,  and  the  Indian  life  inures 
a  man  to  fasting  when  he  cannot  come  by  food.  I 
heard  Skenedonk  talking  to  my  father  and  mother 
in  our  cabin.  The  village  was  empty ;  children  and 
52 


AWAKING  53 

women,  hunters  and  fishermen  having  scattered  to 

woods  and  waters. 

"He  ought  to  learn  books,"  said  Skenedonk. 
"Money  is  sent  you  every  year  to  be  spent  upon  him : 
yet  you  spend  nothing  upon  him." 

"What  has  he  needed  ?"  said  my  father. 

"He  needs  much  now.  He  needs  American  clothes. 
He  wept  at  the  sight  of  a  book.  God  has  removed  the 
touch  since  he  plunged  in  the  water." 

"You  would  make  a  fool  of  him/'  said  my  father. 
"He  was  gone  from  the  lodge  this  morning.  You 
taught  him  an  evil  path  when  you  carried  him  off." 

"It  is  a  natural  path  for  him:  he  will  go  to  his 
own.  I  stayed  and  talked  with  De  Chaumont,  and 
I  bring  you  an  offer.  De  Chaumont  will  take  La- 
zarre  into  his  house,  and  have  him  taught  all  that 
a  white  boy  should  know.  You  will  pay  the  cost. 
If  you  don't,  De  Chaumont  will  look  into  this 
annuity  of  which  you  give  no  account." 

"I  have  never  been  asked  to  give  account.  Could 
Lazarre  learn  anything?  The  priest  has  sat  over 
him.  He  had  food  and  clothing  like  my  own." 

"That  is  true.  But  he  is  changed.  Marianne  will 
let  him  go." 

"The  strange  boy  may  go,"  said  my  mother.  "But 
none  of  my  own  children  shall  leave  us  to  be  edu 
cated." 

I  got  up  and  went  into  the  cabin.  All  three  knew 
I  had  heard,  and  they  waited  in  silence  while  I 
approached  my  mother  and  put  my  hands  on  her 
•shoulders.  There  was  no  tenderness  between  us, 


54  t*  A  2^  A  R  R  B, 

but  she  had  fostered  me.  The  small  dark  syes  in  her 
copper  face,  and  her  shapeless  body,  were  associated 
with  winters  and  summers  stretching  to  a  vanishing 
point. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "is  it  true  that  I  am  not  your 
son?" 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Is  it  true  that  the  chief  is  not  my  father?" 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Who  sends  money  to  be  spent  on  me  every  year  ?" 

Still  she  made  no  answer. 

"If  I  am  not  your  son,  whose  son  am  I  ?" 

In  the  silence  I  turned  to  Skenedonk. 

"Isn't  my  name  Lazarre  Williams,  Skenedonk?" 

"You  are  called  Lazarre  Williams." 

"A  woman  told  me  last  night  that  it  was  not  my 
name.  Everyone  denies  me.  No  one  owns  me  and 
tells  whose  child  I  am.  Wasn't  I  born  at  St.  Regis  ?" 

"If  you  were,  there  is  no  record  of  your  birth  on 
the  register.  The  chiefs  other  children  have  their 
births  recorded." 

I  turned  to  my  father.  The  desolation  of  being 
cut  off  and  left  with  nothing  but  the  guesses  of 
strangers  overcame  me.  I  sobbed  so  the  hoarse 
choke  echoed  in  the  cabin.  Skenedonk  opened  his 
arms,  and  my  father  and  mother  let  me  lean  on  the 
Oneida's  shoulder. 

I  have  thought  since  that  they  resented  with  stoical 
pain  his  taking  their  white  son  from  them.  They 
both  stood  severely  reserved,  passively  loosening  the 
filial  bond 


A  W  A.  KI  N  Q  55 

All  the  business  of  life  was  suspended,  as  when 
there  is  death  in  the  lodge.  Skenedonk  and  I  sat 
down  together  on  a  bunk, 

"Lazarre,"  my  father  spoke,  "do  you  want  to  be 
educated  ?" 

The  things  we  pine  for  in  this  world  are  often 
thrust  upon  us  in  a  way  to  choke  us.  I  had  tramped 
miles,  storming  for  the  privileges  that  had  made 
George  Croghan  what  he  was.  Fate  instantly  picked 
me  up  from  unendurable  conditions  to  set  me  down 
where  I  could  grow,  and  I  squirmed  with  recoil  from 
the  shock. 

I  felt  crowded  over  the  edge  of  a  cliff  and  about 
to  drop  into  a  valley  of  rainbows. 

"Do  you  want  to  live  in  De  Chaumont's  house  and 
learn  his  ways  ?" 

My  father  and  mother  had  been  silent  when  I 
questioned  them.  It  was  my  turn  to  be  silent. 

"Or  would  you  rather  stay  as  you  are?" 

"No,  father,"  I  answered,  "I  want  to  go." 

The  camp  had  never  been  dearer.  I  walked  among 
the  Indian  children  when  the  evening  fires  were 
lighted,  and  the  children  looked  at  me  curiously  as 
at  an  alien.  Already  my  people  had  cut  me  off  from 
them. 

"What  I  learn  I  will  come  back  and  teach  you," 
I  told  the  young  men  and  women  of  my  own  agec 
They  laughed. 

"You  are  a  fool,  Lazarre.  There  is  a  good  home 
for  you  at  St.  Regis.  If  you  fall  sick  in  De  Chau 
mont's  house  who  will  care?" 


56  I,  A  2:  A  R  R  !B 

"Skenedonk  is  my  friend/'  I  answered. 

"Skenedonk  would  not  stay  where  he  is  tying  you. 
When  the  lake  freezes  you  will  be  mad  for  snow- 
shoes  and  a  sight  of  the  St.  Lawrence." 

"Perhaps  so.  But  we  are  not  made  alike.  Do  not 
forget  me." 

They  gave  me  belts  and  garters,  and  I  distributed 
among  them  all  my  Indian  property.  Then,  as  if  to 
work  a  charm  which  should  keep  me  from  breaking 
through  the  circle,  they  joined  hands  and  danced 
around  me.  I  went  to  every  cabin,  half  ashamed 
of  my  desertion,  yet  unspeakably  craving  a  blessing. 
The  old  people  variously  commented  on  the  measure, 
their  wise  eyes  seeing  the  change  in  one  who  had 
been  a  child  rather  than  a  young  man  among  them. 

If  the  wrench  from  the  village  was  hard,  the 
induction  into  the  manor  was  harder.  Skenedonk 
took  me  in  his  boat,  skirting  the  long  strip  of  moun 
tainous  shore  which  separated  us  from  De  Chau- 
mont. 

He  told  me  De  Chaumont  would  permit  my  father 
to  pay  no  more  than  my  exact  reckoning. 

"Do  you  know  who  sends  the  money?"  I  in 
quired. 

The  Oneida  did  not  know.  It  came  through  an 
agent  in  New  York. 

"You  are  ten  years  older  than  I  am.  You  must 
remember  very  well  when  I  was  born." 

"How  can  that  be  ?"  answered  Skenedonk.  "No 
body  in  the  tribe  knows  when  you  were  born," 


AWAKIIIMG  57 

"  Are  children  not  like  the  young  of  other  crea 
tures?  Where  did  I  come  from?" 

"  You  came  to  the  tribe  with  a  man,  and  Chief 
Williams  adopted  you." 

"Did  you  see  the  man?" 

"No.  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean,  in 
France." 

"Who  saw  him?" 

"None  of  our  people.  But  it  is  very  well  known. 
If  you  had  noticed  anything  you  would  have  heard 
the  story  long  ago." 

What  Skenedonk  said  was  true.  I  asked  him, 
bewildered — "Why  did  I  never  notice  anything?" 

The  Oneida  tapped  his  bald  head. 

"When  I  saw  you  first  you  were  not  the  big  fel 
low  with  speaking  eyes  that  you  are  to-day.  You 
would  sit  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  looking  straight 
ahead  of  you  and  never  moving  except  when  food 
was  put  in  your  hand.  As  you  grew  older  the  chil 
dren  dragged  you  among  them  to  play.  You  learned 
to  fish,  and  hunt,  and  swim;  and  knew  us,  and 
began  to  talk  our  language.  Now  at  last  you  are 
fully  roused,  and  are  going  to  learn  the  knowledge 
there  is  in  books." 

I  asked  Skenedonk  how  he  himself  had  liked 
books,  and  he  shook  his  head,  smiling.  They  were 
good  for  white  men,  very  good.  An  Indian  had 
little  use  for  them.  He  could  read  and  write  and 
cast  accounts.  When  he  made  his  great  journey  to 
the  far  country,  what  interested  him  most  was  the 
behavior  of  the  people. 


58  JL,  A.2^  ^V  K  K.  ii 

We  did  not  go  into  the  subject  of  his  travels  at. 
that  time,  for  I  began  to  wonder  who  was  going  to 
teach  me  books,  and  heard  with  surprise  that  it  was 
Doctor  Chantry. 

"But  I  struck  him  with  the  little  knife  that  springs 
out  of  a  box." 

Skenedonk  assured  me  that  Doctor  Chantry 
thought  nothing  of  it,  and  there  was  no  wound  but 
a  scratch.  He  looked  on  me  as  his  pupil.  He  knew 
all  kinds  of  books. 

Evidently  Doctor  Chantry  liked  me  from  the 
moment  I  showed  fight.  His  Anglo-Saxon  blood 
was  stirred.  He  received  me  from  Skenedonk,  who 
shook  my  hand  and  wished  me  well,  before  paddling 
away. 

De  Chaumont's  house  was  full  as  a  hive  around 
the  three  sides  of  its  flowered  court.  A  ball  was  in 
preparation,  and  all  the  guests  had  arrived.  Avoid 
ing  these  gentry  we  mounted  stairs  toward  the  roof; 
and  came  into  a  burst  of  splendor.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  see  through  square  east  and  west  windows, 
unbroken  forests  stretched  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
or  Lake  George  wound,  sown  thick  with  islands, 
ranging  in  size  from  mere  rocks  supporting  a  tree, 
to  wooded  acres. 

The  room  which  weaned  me  from  aboriginal  life 
was  at  the  top  of  the  central  building.  Doctor 
Chantry  shuffled  over  the  clean  oak  floor  and  intro 
duced  me  to  my  appointments.  There  were  cur 
tains  like  frost  work,  which  could  be  pushed  back 
from  the  square  panes.  At  one  end  of  the  huge 


A  W  A  K  I  N  Q  59 

apartment  was  my  huge  bed,  formidable  with  hang 
ings.  Near  it  stood  a  table  for  the  toilet.  He 
opened  a  closet  door  in  the  wall  and  showed  a 
spiral  staircase  going  down  to  a  tunnel  which  led 
to  the  lake.  For  when  De  Chaumont  first  came 
into  the  wilderness  and  built  the  central  house 
without  its  wings,  he  thought  it  well  to  have  a 
secret  way  out,  as  his  chateau  in  the  old  country 
had. 

'The  tunnel  is  damp,"  said  Doctor  Chantry.  "I 
never  venture  into  it,  though  all  the  corner  rooms 
below  give  upon  this  stairway,  and  mine  is  just 
under  yours." 

It  was  like  returning  me  the  lake  to  use  in  my 
own  accustomed  way.  For  the  remainder  of  my  fur 
niture  I  had  a  study  table,  a  cupboard  for  clothes, 
some  arm-chairs,  a  case  of  books,  and  a  massive 
fireplace  with  chimney  seats  at  the  end  of  the  room 
opposite  the  bed. 

I  asked  Doctor  Chantry,  "Was  all  this  made 
ready  for  me  before  I  was  sure  of  coming  here?" 

"When  the  count  decides  that  a  thing  will  be 
done  it  is  usually  done,"  said  my  schoolmaster. 
"And  Madame  de  Ferrier  was  very  active  in  for 
warding  the  preparations." 

The  joy  of  youth  in  the  unknown  was  before  me. 
My  old  camp  life  receded  behind  me. 

Madame  de  Ferrier's  missal-book  lay  on  the  table, 
and  when  I  stopped  before  it  tongue-tied,  Doctor 
Chantry  said  I  was  to  keep  it. 

"She  gives  it  to  you.    It  was  treasured  in  her  fam- 


60  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E> 

ily  on  account  of  personal  attachment  to  the  giver. 
She  is  not  a  Catholic.  She  was  brought  up  as  good 
a  Protestant  as  any  English  gentlewoman." 

"I  told  her  it  was  my  mother's.  It  seemed  to  be 
my  mother's.  But  I  don't  know — I  can't  remem 
ber." 

My  master  looked  at  the  missal,  and  said  it  was  a 
fine  specimen  of  illumination.  His  manner  toward 
me  was  so  changed  that  I  found  it  hard  to  refer  to 
the  lancet.  This,  however,  very  naturally  followed 
his  examination  of  my  head.  He  said  I  had  healthy 
blood,  and  the  wound  was  closing  by  the  first  inten 
tion.  The  pink  cone  at  the  tip  of  his  nose  worked  in 
a  whimsical  grin  as  he  heard  my  apology. 

"It  is  not  often  you  will  make  the  medicine  man 
take  his  own  remedy,  my  lad." 

We  thus  began  our  relation  with  the  best  feeling. 
It  has  since  appeared  that  I  was  a  blessing  to 
Doctor  Chantry.  My  education  gave  him  some 
thing  to  do.  For  although  he  called  himself  physi 
cian  to  Count  de  Chaumont,  he  had  no  real  occu 
pation  in  the  house,  and  dabbled  with  poetry,  doz 
ing  among  books.  De  Chaumont  was  one  of  those 
large  men  who  gather  in  the  weak.  His  older 
servants  had  come  to  America  with  his  father,  and 
were  as  attached  as  kindred.  A  natural  parasite  like 
Doctor  Chantry  took  to  De  Chaumont  as  means 
of  support ;  and  it  was  pleasing  to  both  of  them. 

My  master  asked  me  when  I  wanted  to  begin  my 
studies,  and  I  said,  "Now."  We  sat  down  at  the 
table,  and  I  learned  the  English  alphabet,  some 


A.  W  A  K  I  N  O  6l 

phrases  of  English  talk,  some  spelling,  and  traced 
my  first  characters  in  a  copy-book.  With  consum 
ing  desire  to  know,  I  did  not  want  to  leave  off  at 
dusk.  In  that  high  room  day  lingered.  The  doctor 
was  fretful  for  his  supper  before  we  rose  from  our 
task. 

Servants  were  hurrying  up  and  down  stairs.  The 
whole  house  had  an  air  of  festivity.  Doctor  Chantry 
asked  me  to  wait  in  a  lower  corridor  while  he  made 
some  change  in  his  dress. 

I  sat  down  on  a  broad  window  sill,  and  when  I 
had  waited  a  few  minutes,  Mademoiselle  de  Chau- 
mont  darted  around  a  corner,  bare  armed  and  bare 
necked.  She  collapsed  to  the  floor  at  sight  of  me, 
and  then  began  to  dance  away  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  with  stiff  leaps,  as  a  lamb  does  in  spring-time. 

I  saw  she  was  in  pain  or  trouble,  needing  a  ser 
vant,  and  made  haste  to  reach  her;  when  she  hid 
her  face  on  both  arms  against  the  wall. 

"Go  off!"  she  hissed.  "— S-s-s!  Gooff!  I  haven't 
anything  on ! — Don't  go  off !  Open  my  door  for  me 
quick! — before  anybody  else  comes  into  the  hall!" 

" Which  door  is  it?"  I  asked.  She  showed  me. 
It  had  a  spring  catch,  and  she  had  stepped  into  the 
hall  to  see  if  the  catch  was  set. 

"The  catch  was  set!"  gasped  Mademoiselle  de 
Chaumont.  "Break  the  door — get  it  open — any 
way — Quick !" 

By  good  fortune  I  had  strength  enough  in  my 
shoulder  to  set  the  door  wide  off  its  spring,  and  she 


62 


flew  to  the  middle  of  the  room  slamming  it  in  my 
face. 

Fitness  and  unfitness  required  nicer  discrimina 
tion  than  the  crude  boy  from  the  woods  possessed. 
When  I  saw  her  in  the  ball-room  she  had  very  little 
more  on  than  when  I  saw  her  in  the  hall,  and  that 
little  clung  tight  around  her  figure,  Yet  she  looked 
quite  unconcerned. 

After  we  had  eaten  supper  Doctor  Chantry  and  I 
sat  with  his  sister  where  we  could  see  the  dancing/on 
a  landing  of  the  stairway.  De  Chaumont's  generous 
house  was  divided  across  the  middle  by  a  wide  hall 
that  made  an  excellent  ball-room.  The  sides  were 
paneled,  like  the  walls  of  the  room  in  which  I  first 
came  to  my  senses.  Candles  in  sconces  were  reflected 
by  the  polished,  dark  floor.  A  platform  for  his  fid 
dlers  had  been  built  at  one  end.  Festoons  of  green 
were  carried  from  a  cluster  of  lights  in  the  center  of 
the  ceiling,  to  the  corners,  making  a  bower  or  canopy 
under  which  the  dancers  moved. 

It  is  strange  to  think  that  not  one  stone  remains 
upon  another  and  scarcely  a  trace  is  left  of  this 
manor.  When  De  Chaumont  determined  to  remove 
to  his  seat  at  Le  Rayville,  in  what  was  then  called 
Castorland,  he  had  his  first  hold  pulled  down. 

Miss  Chantry  was  a  blunt  woman.  Her  consid 
eration  for  me  rested  on  my  being  her  brother's 
pupil.  She  spoke  more  readily  than  he  did.  From 
our  cove  we  looked  over  the  railing  at  an  active 
world. 

"Madame  Eagle  is  a  picture,"  remarked  Miss 


KING  63 

Chantry.  " Eagle!  What  a  name  for  civilized 

people  to  give  a  christened  child !  But  these  French 
are  as  likely  as  not  to  call  their  boys  Anne  or  Marie, 
and  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  they  called  their  girls 
Cat  or  Dog.  Eagle  or  Crow,  she  is  the  handsomest 
woman  on  the  floor." 

"Except  Mademoiselle  Annabel,"  the  doctor  ven 
tured  to  amend. 

"That  Annabel  de  Chaumont,"  his  sister  vigor 
ously  declared,  "has  neither  conscience  nor  grati 
tude.  But  none  of  the  French  have.  They  will  take 
your  best  and  throw  you  away  with  a  laugh." 

My  master  and  I  watched  the  brilliant  figures 
swimming  in  the  glow  of  wax  candles.  Face  after 
face  could  be  singled  out  as  beautiful,  and  the  scant 
dresses  revealed  taper  forms.  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier's  garments  may  have  been  white  or  blue  or  yel 
low  ;  I  remember  only  her  satin  arms  and  neck,  the 
rosy  color  of  her  face,  and  the  powder  on  her  hair 
making  it  white  as  down.  Where  this  assembly  was 
collected  from  I  did  not  know,  but  it  acted  on  the 
spirits  and  went  like  volatile  essence  to  the  brain. 

"Pheugh!"  exclaimed  Miss  Chantry,  "how  the 
French  smell !" 

I  asked  her  why,  if  she  detested  them  so,  she  lived 
in  a  French  family,  and  she  replied  that  Count  de 
Chaumont  was  an  exception,  being  almost  English 
in  his  tastes.  He  had  lived  out  of  France  since  his 
father  came  over  with  La  Fayette  to  help  -the  rebel 
lious  Americans. 

I  did  not  know  who  the  rebellious  Americans 


64  IvAZARRK 

were,  but  inferred  that  they  were  people  of  whom 
Miss  Chantry  thought  almost  as  little  as  she  did 
of  the  French. 

Croghan  looked  quite  a  boy  among  so  many  ex 
perienced  gallants,  but  well  appointed  in  his  dress 
and  stepping  through  the  figures  featly.  He  was, 
Miss  Chantry  said,  a  student  of  William  and  Mary 
College. 

"This  company  of  gentry  will  be  widely  scat 
tered  when  it  disperses  home,"  she  told  us.  "There 
is  at  least  one  man  from  over-seas." 

I  thought  of  the  Grignon  and  Tank  families,  who 
were  probably  oh  the  road  to  Albany.  Miss  Chan 
try  bespoke  her  brother's  attention. 

"There  he  is." 

"Who?"  the  doctor  inquired. 

"His  highness,"  she  incisively  responded,  "Prince 
Jerome  Bonaparte." 

I  remembered  my  father  had  said  that  Bonaparte 
was  a  great  soldier  in  a  far  off  country,  and  directly 
asked  Miss  Chantry  if  the  great  soldier  was  in  the 
ball-room. 

She  breathed  a  snort  and  turned  upon  my  master. 
"Pray,  are  you  teaching  this  lad  to  call  that  impostor 
the  great  soldier?" 

Doctor  Chantry  denied  the  charge  and  cast  a 
weak-eyed  look  of  surprise  at  me. 

I  said  my  father  told  me  Bonaparte  was  a  great 
soldier,  and  begged  to  know  if  he  had  been  de 
ceived. 

"Oh!"  Miss  Chantry  responded  in  a  tone  which 


A  W  A  K  I  N  O  65 

slighted  Thomas  Williams.  "Well !  I  will  tell  you 
facts.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  is  one  of  the  worst  and 
most  dangerous  men  that  ever  lived.  He  sets  the 
world  by  the  ears,  and  carries  war  into  every  coun 
try  of  Europe.  That  is  his  youngest  brother  yonder 
— that  superfine  gallant,  in  the  long-tailed  white  silk 
coat  down  to  his  heels, and  white  small-clothes,  with 
diamond  buckles  in  his  shoes,  and  grand  lace  stock 
and  ruffles.  Jerome  Bonaparte  spent  last  winter  in 
Baltimore ;  and  they  say  he  is  traveling  in  the  north 
now  to  forget  a  charming  American  that  Napoleon 
will  not  let  him  marry.  He  has  got  his  name  in  the 
newspapers  of  the  day,  and  so  has  the  young  lady. 
The  French  consul  warned  her  officially.  For  Jerome 
Bonaparte  may  be  made  a  little  king,  with  other 
relations  of  your  great  soldier." 

The  young  man  who  might  be  made  a  little  king 
was  not  as  large  as  I  was  myself,  and  had  a  delicate 
and  womanish  cut  of  countenance.  I  said  he  was 
not  fit  for  a  king,  and  Miss  Chantry  retorted  that 
neither  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte  fit  for  an  em 
peror. 

"What  is  an  emperor  ?"  I  inquired. 

"A  chief  over  kings,"  Doctor  Chantry  put  in. 
"Bonaparte  is  a  conqueror  and  can  set  kings  over 
the  countries  he  has  conquered." 

I  said  that  was  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Miss 
Chantry  glared  at  me.  She  had  weak  hair  like  her 
brother,  but  her  eyes  were  a  piercing  blue,  and  the 
angles  of  her  jaws  were  sharply  marked. 


66 


Meditating  on  things  outside  of  my  experience  I 
desired  to  know  \rhat  the  white  silk  man  had  done. 

"Nothing." 

"Then  why  should  the  emperor  give  him  a  king 
dom?" 

"Because  he  is  the  emperor's  brother." 

"But  he  ought  to  do  something  himself,"  I  in 
sisted.  "It  is  not  enough  to  accept  a  chief's  place. 
He  cannot  hold  it  if  he  is  not  fit." 

"So  the  poor  Bourbons  found.  But  they  were  not 
upstarts  at  any  rate.  I  hope  I  shall  live  to  see  them 
restored." 

Here  was  another  opportunity  to  inform  myself. 
I  asked  Miss  Chantry  who  the  Bourbons  were. 

"They  are  the  rightful  kings  of  France." 

"Why  do  they  let  Bonaparte  and  his  brothers 
take  their  place?" 

Doctor  Chantry  turned  from  the  promenaders 
below  and,  with  slow  and  careful  speech,  gave  me 
my  first  lesson  in  history. 

"There  was  a  great  civil  war  in  France  called  the 
Revolution,  when  part  of  the  people  ran  mad  to 
kill  the  other  part.  They  cut  off  the  heads  of  the 
king  and  queen,  and  shut  up  the  two  royal  children 
in  prison.  The  dauphin  died." 

"What  is  a  dauphin?" 

"The  heir  to  the  throne  of  France  was  called  the 
dauphin." 

"Was  he  the  king's  son?" 

"The  king's  eldest  son." 

"If  he  had  brothers  were  they  dauphins  too?" 


KI  N  G  67 

"No.  He  alone  was  the  dauphin.  The  last  dau 
phin  of  France  had  no  living  brothers.  He  had  only 
a  sister." 

"You  said  the  dauphin  died." 

"In  a  prison  called  the  Temple,  in  Paris." 

"Was  the  Temple  a  prison?" 

"Yes." 

Madame  de  Ferrier  had  said  her  father  and  some 
other  person  did  not  believe  the  dauphin  died  in  the 
Temple. 

"Suppose  he  was  alive?"  I  hazarded. 

"Suppose  who  was  alive?"  said  Miss  Chantry. 

"The  dauphin." 

"He  isn't." 

"Did  all  the  people  believe  he  was  dead?" 

"They  didn't  care  whether  he  was  dead  or  not. 
They  went  on  killing  one  another  until  this  man 
Bonaparte  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  and 
got  the  upper  hand  of  them.  The  French  are  all  fire 
and  tow,  and  the  man  who  can  stamp  on  them  is 
their  idol." 

"You  said  you  hoped  you  would  live  to  see  the 
Bourbons  restored.  Dead  people  cannot  be 
restored." 

"Oh,  the  Bourbons  are  not  all  dead.  The  king 
of  France  had  brothers.  The  elder  one  of  these 
would  be  king  now  if  the  Bourbons  came  back  to 
the  throne." 

"But  he  would  not  be  king  if  the  dauphin  lived  ?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Chantry,  leaning  back  indiffer 
ently. 


68  LAZARRE 

My  head  felt  confused,  throbbing  with  the  dull 
ache  of  healing.  I  supported  it,  resting  my  elbow 
on  the  railing. 

The  music,  under  cover  of  which  we  had  talked, 
made  one  of  its  pauses.  Annabel  de  Chaumont 
looked  up  at  us,  allowing  the  gentleman  in  the 
long-tailed  silk  coat  to  lead  her  toward  the  stairs. 


MISS  CHANTRY  exclaimed,  and  her  face 
stiffened  with  an  expression  which  I  have 
since  learned  to  know  as  the  fear  of  dignitaries; 
experienced  even  by  people  who  profess  to  despise 
the  dignitaries.  Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  shook 
frizzes  around  her  face,  and  lifted  the  scant 
dress  from  her  satin  shod  feet  as  she  mounted  the 
stairs.  Without  approaching  us  she  sat  down  on 
the  top  step  of  the  landing  with  young  Bonaparte, 
and  beckoned  to  me. 

I  went  at  her  bidding  and  stood  by  the  rail. 

"Prince  Jerome  Bonaparte  wants  to  see  you.  I 
have  told  him  about  the  bear  pen,  and  Madame 
Tank,  and  the  mysterious  marks  on  you,  and  what 
she  said  about  your  rank." 

I  must  have  frowned,  for  the  young  gentleman 
made  a  laughing  sign  to  me  that  he  did  not  take 
Annabel  seriously.  He  had  an  amiable  face,  and 
accepted  me  as  one  of  the  oddities  of  the  country. 

"What  fun,"  said  Annabel,  "to  introduce  a  prince 
of  the  empire  to  a  prince  of  the  woods !" 

"What  do  you  think  of  your  brother?"  I  in 
quired. 

He  looked  astonished  and  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  the  emperor?" 

I  told  him  I  did. 

69 


70  IvAZARRK 

"If  you  want  my  candid  opinion,"  his  eyes 
twinkled,  and  he  linked  his  hands  around  his  white 
satin  knees,  "I  think  my  brother  rules  his  family 
with  a  rod  of  iron." 

"What  will  you  do,"  I  continued,  "when  your 
family  are  turned  out?" 

"My  faith !"  said  Annabel,  "this  in  a  house  favor 
able  to  the  Empire!" 

"A  very  natural  question,"  said  Jerome.  "I  have 
often  asked  myself  the  same  thing." 

"The  king  of  France,"  I  argued,  "and  all  the 
Bourbons  were  turned  out.  Why  shouldn't  the 
Bonapartes  be?" 

"Why  shouldn't  they,  indeed !"  responded  Jerome. 
"My  mother  insists  they  will  be.  But  I  wouldn't 
be  the  man  who  undertakes  to  turn  out  the  em 
peror." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"Impossible  to  describe  him." 

"Is  he  no  larger  than  you  ?" 

Annabel  gurgled  aloud. 

"He  is  not  as  large." 

"Yet  he  is  a  great  soldier?" 

"A  great  soldier.  And  he  is  adored  by  the 
French." 

"The  French,"  I  quoted,  "are  all  fire  and  tow." 

"Thank  you !"  said  Annabel,  pulling  out  her  light 
frizzes. 

"You  seem  interested  in  the  political  situation," 
remarked  Prince  Jerome. 

I  did  not  know  what  he  meant  by  the  political 


AWAKING  71 

situation,  but  told  him  I  had  just  heard  about  the 
Bonapartes. 

"Where  have  you  lived?"  he  laughed. 

I  told  him  it  didn't  matter  where  people  lived; 
it  all  depended  on  whether  they  understood  or  not. 

"What  a  sage! — I  think  I'm  one  of  the  people 
who  will  never  be  able  to  understand,"  said  Jerome. 

I  said  he  did  not  look  as  if  he  had  been  idiotic,  and 
both  he  and  Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  laughed. 

"Monsieur" 

"Lazarre  Williams,"  supplemented  Annabel. 

"Monsieur  Lazarre  Williams,  whatever  your  lot  in 
life,  you  will  have  one  advantage  over  me ;  you  will 
be  an  American  citizen." 

"Haven't  I  that  doleful  advantage  myself?" 
mourned  Annabel.  "A  Baltimore  convent,  an  Eng 
lish  governess — a  father  that  may  never  go  back 
to  France !" 

"Mademoiselle,  all  advantages  of  nationality,  of 
person,  of  mind,  of  heart,  are  yours !" 

So  tipping  the  interview  with  a  compliment  he 
rose  up,  and  Annabel  rose  also,  making  him  a  deep 
courtesy,  and  giving  him  her  hand  to  be  led  back  to 
the  floor.  He  kissed  her  white  forefinger,  and 
bowed  to  me. 

"You  have  suggested  some  interesting  thoughts, 
monsieur  prince  of  the  woods.  Perhaps  you  may 
yet  take  your  turn  on  the  throne  of  France.  What 
would  you  do  in  that  case?" 

"I  would  make  the  people  behave  themselves  if  I 
had  to  grind  them  to  powder." 


72  IvAZARRK 

"Now  there  spoke  old  Louis  XIV!"  laughed 
young  Jerome  Bonaparte.  We  both  bowed,  and  he 
passed  down  with  Annabel  into  the  hall. 

I  did  not  know  what  made  Madame  de  Ferrier 
watch  me  from  her  distant  place  with  widened 
eyes. 

Miss  Chantry  spoke  shrilly  to  her  brother  behind 
me. 

"You  will  never  be  able  to  do  anything  with  a  lad 
who  thrusts  himself  forward  like  that !  He  has  no 
sense  of  fitness! — standing  there  and  facing  down 
the  brother  of  a  crowned  head ! — bad  as  the  head  is. 
Of  course  Mademoiselle  Annabel  set  him  on;  she 
loves  to  make  people  ridiculous !" 

I  walked  downstairs  afte  Prince  Jerome, 
threaded  a  way  among  gazing  dancers,  and  left  the 
hall,  stung  in  my  pride. 

We  do  strangely  expand  and  contract  in  vital 
force  and  reach  of  vision.  I  wanted  to  put  the  lake 
— the  world  itself — between  me  and  that  glittering 
company.  The  edge  of  a  ball-room  and  the  society 
of  men  in  silks  and  satins,  and  of  bewitching  women, 
were  not  intended  for  me. 

Homesickness  like  physical  pain  came  over  me 
for  my  old  haunts.  They  were  newly  recognized  as 
beloved.  I  had  raged  against  them  when  comparing 
myself  to  Croghan.  But  now  I  thought  of  the  even 
ing  camp  fire,  and  hunting  stories,  of  the  very  dogs 
that  licked  my  hand ;  of  St.  Regis,  and  my  loft  bed, 
of  snowshoes,  and  the  blue  northern  river,  longing 
for  them  as  the  young  Mohawks  said  I  should  long. 


AWAKING  73 

Torn  betwixt  two  natures,  the  white  man's  and  the 
Indian's,  I  flung  a  boat  out  into  the  water  and 
started  to  go  home  faster  than  I  had  come  away. 
The  slowness  of  a  boat's  progress,  pushed  by  the 
silly  motion  of  oars,  which  have  not  the  nice  dis 
crimination  of  a  paddle,  impressed  me  as  I  put  the 
miles  behind. 

When  the  camp  light  shone  through  trees  it  must 
have  been  close  to  midnight,,  and  my  people  had  fin 
ished  their  celebration  of  the  corn  dance.  An  odor 
of  sweet  roasted  ears  dragged  out  of  hot  ashes 
reached  the  poor  outsider.  Even  the  dogs  were  too 
busy  to  nose  me  out.  I  slunk  as  close  as  I  dared 
and  drew  myself  up  a  tree,  lying  stretched  with  arms 
and  legs  around  a  limb. 

They  would  have  admitted  me  to  the  feast,  but 
as  a  guest.  I  had  no  longer  a  place  of  my  own, 
either  here  or  there.  It  was  like  coming  back  after 
death,  to  realize  that  you  were  unmissed.  The  camp 
was  t  full  of  happiness  and  laughter.  Young  men 
chased  the  young  maids,  who  ran  squealing  with 
merriment.  My  father,  Thomas  Williams,  and  my 
mother,  Marianne,  sat  among  the  elders  tranquil 
and  satisfied.  They  were  ignorant  Indians;  but  I 
had  no  other  parents.  Skenedonk  could  be  seen, 
laughing  at  the  young  Mohawks. 

If  there  was  an  oval  faced  mother  in  my  past, 
who  had  read  to  me  from  the  missal,  I  wanted  her. 
If,  as  Madame  Tank  said,  I  outranked  De  Chau- 
mont's  daughter,  I  wanted  my  rank.  It  was  neces- 


74  IvAZARRK 

sary  for  me  to  have  something  of  my  own :  to  have 
love  from  somebody ! 

Collapsed  and  dejected,  I  crept  down  the  tree  and 
back  to  the  life  that  was  now  forced  upon  me 
whether  I  wished  to  continue  it  or  not.  Belonging 
nowhere,  I  remembered  my  refuge  in  the  new  world 
of  books. 

Lying  stretched  in  the  boat  with  oars  shipped, 
drifting  and  turning  on  the  crooked  lake,  I  took 
exact  stock  of  my  position  in  the  world,  and  marked 
out  my  future. 

These  things  were  known : 

I  was  not  an  Indian. 

I  had  been  adopted  into  the  family  of  Chief  Wil 
liams. 

Money  was  sent  through  an  agent  in  New  York 
for  my  support  and  education. 

There  were  scars  on  my  wrists,  ankles,  arm  and 
eyebrow. 

These  scars  identified  me  in  Madame  de  Ferrier's 
mind  and  Madame  Tank's  mind  as  a  person  from  the 
other  side  of  the  world. 

I  had  formerly  been  deadened  in  mind. 

I  was  now  keenly  alive. 

These  things  were  not  known : 

Who  I  was. 

Who  sent  money  for  my  support  and  education. 

How  I  became  scarred. 

What  man  had  placed  me  among  the  Indians. 

For  the  future  I  bound  myself  with  three  laws: 

To  leave  alone  the  puzzle  of  my  past. 


A  \V  A  PC  I  N  Q  75 

To  study  with  all  my  might  and  strength. 

When  I  was  grown  and  educated,  to  come  back 
to  my  adopted  people,  the  Iroquois,  draw  them  to 
some  place  where  they  could  thrive,  and  by  training 
and  education  make  them  an  empire,  and  myself 
their  leader. 

The  pale-skin's  loathing  of  the  red  race  had  not 
then  entered  my  imagination.  I  said  in  conclusion : 

"Indians  have  taken  care  of  me ;  they  shall  be  my 
brothers." 


VT 


HE  zigzag  track  of  the  boat  represented  a 

JL  rift  widening  between  me  and  my  past.  I 
sat  up  and  took  the  oars,  feeling  older  and  stronger. 

It  was  primitive  man,  riding  between  the  high 
lands,  uncumbered,  free  to  grasp  what  was  before 
him. 

De  Chaumont  did  not  believe  in  and  was  indiffer 
ent  to  the  waif  whom  his  position  of  great  seigneur 
obliged  him  to  protect.  What  did  I  care?  I  had 
been  hidden  among  the  Indians  by  kindred  or 
guardians  humane  enough  not  to  leave  me  destitute. 
They  should  not  trouble  my  thoughts,  and  neither 
— I  told  myself  like  an  Indian — should  the  imagin 
ings  of  women. 

A  boy  minds  no  labor  in  following  his  caprices. 
The  long  starlit  pull  I  reckoned  as  nothing;  and 
slipped  to  my  room  when  daylight  was  beginning 
to  surprise  the  dancers. 

It  was  so  easy  to  avoid  people  in  the  spaciousness 
of  De  Chaumont's  manor  that  I  did  not  again  see 
the  young  Bonaparte  nor  any  of  the  guests  except 
Croghan.  They  slept  all  the  following  day,  and  the 
third  day  separated.  Croghan  found  my  room  be 
fore  leaving  with  his  party,  and  we  talked  as  well 
as  we  could,  and  shook  hands  at  parting. 

The  impressions  of  that  first  year  stay  in  my  mind 
as  I  have  heard  the  impressions  of  childhood  remain. 


AWAKING  77 

It  was  perhaps  a  kind  of  brief  childhood,  swift  in 
its  changes,  and  running  parallel  with  the  develop 
ment  of  youth. 

My  measure  being  sent  to  New  York  by  De  Chau- 
mont,  I  had  a  complete  new  outfit  in  clothes ;  coat, 
waistcoat,  and  small-clothes,  neckwear,  ruffles,  and 
shirts,  buckle  shoes,  stockings  of  mild  yarn  for  cold 
weather,  and  thread  stockings.  Like  most  of  the 
things  for  which  we  yearn,  when  I  got  them  I  did 
not  like  them  as  well  as  the  Indian  garments  they 
obliged  me  to  shed. 

Skenedonk  came  to  see  me  nearly  every  day,  and 
sat  still  as  long  as  he  could  while  I  toiled  at  books. 
I  did  not  tell  him  how  nearly  I  had  disgraced  us 
both  by  running  secretly  away  to  camp.  So  I  was 
able  to  go  back  and  pay  visits  with  dignity  and  be 
taken  seriously,  instead  of  encountering  the  ridicule 
that  falls  upon  retreat. 

My  father  was  neither  pleased  nor  displeased. 
He  paid  my  accounts  exactly,  before  the  camp  broke 
up  for  the  winter,  making  Skenedonk  his  agent. 
My  mother  Marianne  offered  me  food  as  she  would 
have  offered  it  to  Count  de  Chaumont;  and  I  ate 
it,  sitting  on  a  mat  as  a  guest.  Our  children,  par 
ticularly  the  elder  ones,  looked  me  over  with  gravity, 
and  refrained  from  saying  anything  about  my 
clothes. 

Our  Iroquois  went  north  before  snow  flew,  and 
the  cabins  stood  empty,  leaves  drifting  through  fire- 
holes  in  the  bark  thatch. 

There  have  been  students  greedy  of  knowledge. 


7S  IvAZARRK 

I  seemed  hollow  with  the  fasting  of  a  lifetime.  My 
master  at  first  tried  to  bind  me  to  times;  he  had 
never  encountered  so  boundless  an  appetite.  As 
soon  as  I  woke  in  the  morning  I  reached  for  a  book, 
and  as  days  became  darker,  for  tinder  to  light  a 
»  candle.  I  studied  incessantly,  dashing  out  at  inter 
vals  to  lake  or  woods,  and  returning  after  wild 
activity,  with  increased  zest  to  the  printed  world. 
My  mind  appeared  to  resume  a  faculty  it  had  sus 
pended,  and  to  resume  with  incredible  power.  Mag 
netized  by  books,  I  cared  for  nothing  else.  That 
first  winter  I  gained  hold  on  English  and  Latin, 
on  French  reading,  mathematics,  geography,  and 
history.  My  master  was  an  Oxford  man,  and  when 
roused  from  dawdling,  a  scholar.  He  grew  fool 
ishly  proud  and  fond  of  what  he  called  my  prodig 
ious  advance. 

De  Chaumont's  library  was  a  luscious  field,  and 
Doctor  Chantry  was  permitted  to  turn  me  loose  in 
it,  so  that  the  books  were  almost  like  my  own.  I 
carried  them  around  hid  in  my  breast;  my  coat- 
skirts  were  weighted  with  books.  There  were  Plut 
arch's  Lives  in  the  old  French  of  Amyot,  over 
which  I  labored;  a  French  translation  of  Homer; 
Corneille's  tragedies;  Rochefoucauld;  Montaigne's 
essays,  in  ten  volumes;  Thomson's  poems,  and 
Chesterfield's  letters,  in  English;  the  life  of 
Petrarch;  three  volumes  of  Montesquieu's  works; 
and  a  Bible;  which  I  found  greatly  to  my  taste.  It 
was  a  wide  and  catholic  taste. 

De  Chaumont  spent  nearly  all  that  autumn  and 


AWAKING  79 

winter  in  Castorland,  where  he  was  building  his 
new  manor  and  founding  his  settlement  called  Le 
Rayville.  As  soon  as  I  became  a  member  of  his 
household  his  patriarchal  kindness  was  extended  to 
me,  though  he  regarded  me  simply  as  an  ambitious 
half-breed. 

The  strong  place  which  he  had  built  for  his  first 
holding  in  the  wilderness  thus  grew  into  a  cloistered 
school  for  me.  It  has  vanished  from  the  spot  where 
it  stood,  but  I  shall  forever  see  it  between  lake  and 
forest. 

Annabel  de  Chaumont  openly  hated  the  isolation 
of  the  place,  and  was  happy  only  when  she  could 
fill  it  with  guests.  But  Madame  de  Ferrier  evidently 
loved  it,  remaining  there  with  Paul  and  Ernestine. 
Sometimes  I  did  not  see  her  for  days  together.  But 
Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont,  before  her  departure 
to  her  Baltimore  convent  for  the  winter,  amused 
herself  with  my  education.  She  brought  me  an  old 
book  of  etiquette  in  which  young  gentlemen  were 
admonished  not  to  lick  their  fingers  or  crack  bones 
with  their  teeth  at  table.  Nobody  else  being  at 
hand  she  befooled  with  Doctor  Chantry  and  me,  and 
I  saw  for  the  first  time,  with  surprise,  an  old  man's 
infatuation  with  a  poppet. 

It  was  this  foolishness  of  her  brother's  which 
Miss  Chantry  could  not  forgive  De  Chaumont's 
daughter.  She  was  incessant  in  her  condemnation, 
yet  unmistakably  fond  in  her  English  way  of  the 
creature  she  condemned.  Annabel  loved  to  drag 
my  poor  master  in  flowery  chains  before  his  relative. 


go  I^AZARRE: 

She  wOuld  make  wreaths  of  crimson  leaves  for  his 
bald  head,  and  exhibit  him  grinning  like  a  weak- 
eyed  Bacchus.  Once  he  sat  doting  beside  her  at 
twilight  on  a  bench  of  the  wide  gallery  while  his 
sister,  near  by,  kept  guard  over  their  talk.  I  passed 
them,  coming  back  from  my  tramp,  with  a  glowing 
branch  in  my  hand.  For  having  set  my  teeth  in 
the  scarlet  tart  udder  of  a  sumach,  all  frosted  with 
delicate  fretwork,  I  could  not  resist  bringing  away 
some  of  its  color. 

"Did  you  get  that  for  me?"  called  Annabel.  I 
mounted  the  steps  to  give  it  to  her,  and  she  said, 
"Thank  you,  Lazarre  Williams.  Every  day  you 
learn  some  pretty  new  trick.  Doctor  Chantry  has 
not  brought  me  anything  from  the  woods  in  a  long 
while." 

Doctor  Chantry  stirred  his  gouty  feet  and  looked 
hopelessly  out  at  the  landscape. 

"Sit  here  by  your  dearest  Annabel/'  said  Made 
moiselle  de  Chaumont. 

Her  governess  breathed  the  usual  sigh  of  disgust. 

I  sat  by  my  dearest  Annabel,  anxious  to  light  my 
candle  and  open  my  books.  She  shook  the  frizzes 
around  her  cheeks  and  buried  her  hands  under  the 
scarlet  branch  in  her  lap. 

"Do  you  know,  Lazarre  Williams,  I  have  to  leave 
you?" 

I  said  I  was  sorry  to  hear  it. 

"Yes,  I  have  to  go  back  to  my  convent,  and  drag 
poor  Miss  Chantry  with  me,  though  she  is  a  heretic 
and  hates  the  forms  of  our  religion.  But  she  has 


A  Vv^  A  K  I  N  Q  81 

to  submit,  and  so  do  I,  because  my  father  will  have 
nobody  but  an  English  governess." 

"Mademoiselle,"  spoke  Miss  Chantry,  "I  would 
suggest  that  you  sit  on  a  chair  by  yourself." 

"What,  on  one  of  those  little  crowded  chairs?" 
said  Annabel. 

She  reached  out  her  sly  hand  for  mine  and  drew 
it  under  cover  of  the  sumach  branch. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  your  rank  a  great 
deal,  Lazarre  Williams,  and  wondering  what  it  is." 

"If  you  thought  more  about  your  own  it  would  be 
better,"  said  Miss  Chantry. 

"We  are  Americans  here,"  said  Annabel.  "All 
are  equal,  and  some  are  free.  I  am  only  equal. 
Must  your  dearest  Annabel  obey  you  about  the  chair, 
Miss  Chantry?" 

"I  said  I  would  suggest  that  you  sit  on  a  chair 
by  yourself." 

"I  will,  dear.  You  know  I  always  follow  your 
suggestions." 

I  felt  the  hand  that  held  mine  tighten  its  grip 
in  a  despairing  squeeze.  Annabel  suddenly  raised 
the  branch  high  above  her  head  with  both  arms, 
and  displayed  Doctor  Chantry's  hand  and  mine 
clasped  tenderly  in  her  lap.  She  laughed  until  even 
Miss  Chantry  was  infected,  and  the  doctor  tittered 
and  wiped  his  eyes. 

"Watch  your  brother,  Miss  Chantry — don't  watch 
me !  You  thought  he  was  squeezing  my  hand — and 
he  thought  so  tool  Lazarre  Williams  is  just  out  of 


82  IvAZARRK 

the  woods  and  doesn't  know  any  better.  But 
Doctor  Chantry — he  is  older  than  my  father!" 

"We  wished  to  oblige  you,  mademoiselle,"  I  said. 
But  the  poor  English  gentleman  tittered  on  in  help 
less  admiration.  He  told  me  privately — "I  never 
saw  another  girl  like  her.  So  full  of  spirits,  and 
so  frank!" 

Doctor  Chantry  did  not  wear  his  disfiguring  horn 
spectacles  when  Annabel  was  near.  He  wrote  a 
great  deal  of  poetry  while  the  blow  of  parting  from 
her  was  hanging  over  him,  and  read  it  to  me  of 
mornings,  deprecating  my  voiceless  contempt.  I 
would  hear  him  quarreling  with  a  servant  in  the 
hall;  for  the  slightest  variation  in  his  comfort  en 
gendered  rages  in  him  that  were  laughable.  Then 
he  entered,  red-nosed,  red-eyed,  and  bloodlessly 
shivering,  with  a  piece  of  paper  covered  by  innu 
merable  small  characters. 

"Good  morning,  my  lad,"  he  would  say. 

"Good  morning,  Doctor  Chantry,"  I  answered. 

"Here  are  a  few  little  stanzas  which  I  have  just 
set  down.  If  you  have  no  objection  I  will  read 
them." 

I  must  have  listened  like  a  trapped  bear,  sitting 
up  and  longing  to  get  at  him,  for  he  usually  fin 
ished  humbly,  folding  his  paper  and  putting  it  away 
in  his  breast.  There  was  reason  to  believe  that  he 
spent  valuable  hours  copying  all  these  verses  for 
Annabel  de  Chaumont.  But  there  is  no  evidence 
that  she  carried  them  with  her  when  she  and  her 
governess  departed  in  a  great  coach  all  gilt  and 


AWAKING  S3 

padding.  Servants  and  a  wagon  load  of  baggage 
and  supplies  accompanied  De  Chaumont's  daughter 
on  the  long  journey  to  her  Baltimore  convent. 

Shaking  in  every  nerve  and  pale  as  a  sheet,  my 
poor  master  watched  her  out  of  sight.  He  said  he 
should  not  see  his  sister  again  until  spring;  and 
added  that  he  was  a  fool,  but  when  a  creature  of 
light  came  across  his  path  he  could  not  choose  but 
worship.  His  affections  had  been  blighted  by  a  dis 
appointment  in  youth,  but  he  had  thought  he  might 
at  least  bask  in  passing  sunshine,  though  fated  to 
unhappiness.  I  was  ashamed  to  look  at  him,  or  to 
give  any  sign  of  overhearing  his  weakness,  and 
exulted  mightily  in  my  youth,  despising  the  enchant 
ments  of  a  woman.  Madame  de  Ferrier  watched 
the  departure  from  another  side  of  the  gallery,  and 
did  not  witness  my  poor  master's  breakdown.  She 
came  and  talked  to  him,  and  took  more  notice  of 
him  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  take  before. 

In  a  day  or  two  he  was  quite  himself,  plodding  at 
the  lessons,  suddenly  furious  at  the  servants,  and 
giving  me  fretful  histories  of  his  wrongs  when  bran 
dy  and  water  were  not  put  by  his  bedside  at  night, 
or  a  warming-pan  was  not  passed  between  his 
sheets. 

About  this  time  I  began  to  know  without  being 
taught  and  without  expressing  it  in  words,  that 
there  is  a  natural  law  of  environment  which  makes 
us  grow  like  the  company  we  keep.  During  the 
first  six  months  of  my  stay  in  De  Chaumont's  house 
Doctor  Chantry  was  my  sole  companion.  I  looked 


84  i^AZAKRE^ 

anxiously  into  the  glass  on  my  dressing-table,  dread 
ing  to  see  a  reflection  of  his  pettiness.  I  saw  a  face 
with  Targe  features,  eager  in  expression.  The  eyes 
were  hazel,  and  bluish  around  the  iris  rims,  the  nose 
aquiline,  the  chin  full,  the  head  high,  and  round 
templed.  The  hair  was  sunny  and  wavy,  not  dark 
and  tight  fitting  like  that  of  my  Indian  father  and 
mother.  There  would  be  always  a  scar  across  my 
eyebrow.  I  noticed  that  the  lobe  of  my  ear  was  not 
deeply  divided  from  my  head,  but  fashioned  close 
to  it  in  triangular  snugness,  though  I  could  not 
have  said  so.  Regular  life  and  abundant  food,  and 
the  drive  of  purpose,  were  developing  all  my  parts. 
I  took  childish  pleasure  in  watching  my  Indian  boy 
hood  go,  and  vital  force  mounting  every  hour. 

Time  passed  without  marking  until  January.  The 
New  England  Thanksgiving  we  had  not  then  heard 
of;  and  Christmas  was  a  holy  day  of  the  church. 
On  a  January  afternoon  Madame  de  Ferrier  sent 
Ernestine  to  say  that  she  wished  to  see  Doctor 
Chantry  and  me. 

My  master  was  asleep  by  the  fire  in  an  armchair. 
I  looked  at  his  disabled  feet,  an'd  told  Ernestine  I 
would  go  with  her  alone.  She  led  me  to  a  wing  of 
the  house. 

Even  an  Indian  boy  could  see  through  Annabel 
de  Chaumont.  But  who  might  fathom  Madame  de 
Ferrier?  Every  time  I  saw  her,  and  that  was  sel 
dom,  some  change  made  her  another  Madame  de 
Ferrier,  as  if  she  were  a  thousand  women  in  one. 
I  saw  her  first  a  white  clad  spirit,  who  stood  by  my 


A  W  A.  K:  I  K  Q  85 

head  when  I  awoke ;  next,  a  lady  who  rose  up  and 
bowed  to  me ;  then  a  beauty  among  dancers ;  after 
wards,  a  little  girl  running  across  the  turf,  or  a  kind 
woman  speaking  to  my  master.  Often  she  was  a  dis 
tant  figure,  coming  and  going  with  Paul  and  Ernes 
tine  in  De  Chaumont's  woods.  If  we  encountered, 
she  always  said,  "Good  day,  monsieur,"  and  I  an 
swered  "Good  day,  madame." 

I  had  my  meals  alone  with  Doctor  Chantry,  and 
never  questioned  this  custom,  from  the  day  I 
entered  the  house.  De  Chaumont's  chief,  who  was 
over  the  other  servants,  and  had  come  with  him 
from  his  chateau  near  Blois,  waited  upon  me,  while 
Doctor  Chantry  was  served  by  another  man  named 
Jean.  My  master  fretted  at  Jean.  The  older 
servant  paid  no  attention  to  that. 

Madame  de  Ferrier  and  I  had  lived  six  months 
under  the  same  roof  as  strangers.  Consciousness 
plowed  such  a  direct  furrow  in  front  of  me  that  I 
saw  little  on  either  side  of  it.  She  was  a  name,  that 
I  found  written  in  the  front  of  the  missal,  and 
copied  over  and  over  down  foolscap  paper  in  my 
practice  of  script : 

"Eagle  Madeleine  Marie  de  Ferrier." 
"Eagle  Madeleine  Marie  de  Ferrier." 
She  stood  in  her  sitting  room,  which  looked  upon 
the  lake,  and  before  a  word  passed  between  us  I 
saw  she  was  unlike  any  of  her  former  selves.    Her 
features  were  sharpened  and  whitened.    She  looked 
beyond  me  with  gray  colored  eyes,  and  held  her 
lips  apart. 


86 


"I  have  news.  The  Indian  brought  me  this  letter 
from  Albany." 

I  could  not  help  glancing  curiously  at  the  sheet 
in  her  hand,  spotted  on  the  back  with  broken  red 
wafers.  It  was  the  first  letter  I  had  ever  seen. 
Doctor  Chantry  told  me  he  received  but  one  during 
the  winter  from  his  sister,  and  paid  two  Spanish 
reals  in  postage  for  it,  besides  a  fee  and  some  food 
and  whisky  to  the  Indian  who  made  the  journey  to 
deliver  such  parcels.  It  was  a  trying  and  an  im 
portant  experience  to  receive  a  letter.  I  was  sur 
prised  that  Madame  Tank  had  recommended  my 
sending  one  into  the  Wisconsin  country. 

"Count  de  Chaumont  is  gone;  and  I  must  have 
advice/' 

"Madame,"  I  said,  "Doctor  Chantry  was  asleep, 
but  I  will  wake  him  and  bring  him  here." 

"No.  I  will  tell  you.  Monsieur,  my  Cousin 
Philippe  is  dead." 

It  might  have  shocked  me  more  if  I  had  known 
she  had  a  Cousin  Philippe.  I  said  stupidly: 

"Is  he?" 

"Cousin  Philippe  was  my  husband,  you  under 
stand." 

"Madame,  are  you  married?" 

"Of  course  !"  she  exclaimed.  And  I  confessed  to 
myself  that  in  no  other  way  could  Paul  be  accounted 
for. 

"But  you  are  here  alone?" 

Two  large  tears  ran  down  her  face. 

"You  should   understand  the  De  Ferriers  are 


KING  87 

poor,  monsieur,  unless  something  can  be  saved 
from  our  estates  that  the  Bonapartes  have  given 
away.  Cousin  Philippe  went  to  see  if  we  could  re 
cover  any  part  of  them.  Count  de  Chaumont 
thought  it  a  favorable  time.  But  he  was  too  old  for 
such  a  journey;  and  the  disappointments  at  the  end 
of  it." 

"Old!   Was  he  old,  madame?" 

"Almost  as  old  as  my  father/' 

"But  you  are  very  young." 

"I  was  only  thirteen  when  my  father  on  his  death 
bed  married  me  to  Cousin  Philippe.  We  were  the 
last  of  our  family.  Now  Cousin  Philippe  is  dead 
and  Paul  and  I  are  orphans !" 

She  felt  her  loss  as  Paul  might  have  felt  his.  He 
was  gurgling  at  Ernestine's  knee  in  the  next  room. 

"I  want  advice,"  she  said ;  and  I  stood  ready  to 
give  it,  as  a  man  always  is ;  the  more  positively  be 
cause  I  knew  nothing  of  the  world. 

"Cousin  Philippe  said  I  must  go  to  France,  for 
Paul's  sake,  and  appeal  myself  to  the  empress,  who 
has  great  influence  over  the  emperor.  His  com 
mand  was  to  go  at  once." 

"Madame,  you  cannot  go  in  midwinter." 

"Must  I  go  at  all?"  she  cried  out  passionately. 
"Why  don't  you  tell  me  a  De  Ferrier  shall  not  crawl 
the  earth  before  a  Bonaparte!  You — of  all  men! 
We  are  poor  and  exiles  because  we  were  royalists 
— are  royalists — we  always  shall  be  royalists!  I 
would  rather  make  a  wood-chopper  of  Paul  than  a 
serf  to  this  Napoleon !" 

She  checked  herself,  and  motioned  to  a  chair. 


"Sit  down,  monsieur.  Pardon  me  that  I  have 
kept  you  standing." 

I  placed  the  chair  for  her,  but  she  declined  it,  and 
we  continued  to  face  each  other. 

''Madame,"  I  said,  "you  seem  to  blame  me  for 
something.  What  have  I  done  ?" 

"Nothing,  monsieur." 

"I  will  now  ask  your  advice.  What  do  you  want 
me  to  do  that  I  have  not  done  ?" 

"Monsieur,  you  are  doing  exactly  what  I  want 
you  to  do." 

"Then  you  are  not  displeased  with  me?" 

"I  am  more  pleased  with  you  every  time  I  see  you. 
Your  advice  is  good.  I  cannot  go  in  midwinter." 

"Are  you  sure  your  cousin  wanted  you  to  make 
this  journey?" 

"The  notary  says  so  in  this  letter.  Philippe 
died  in  the  farm-house  of  one  of  our  peasants,,  and 
the  new  masters  could  not  refuse  him  burial  in  the 
church  where  De  Ferriers  have  lain  for  hundreds 
of  years.  He  was  more  fortunate  than  my  father." 

This  interview  with  Madame  de  Ferrier  in  which 
I  cut  so  poor  a  figure,  singularly  influenced  me. 
It  made  me  restless,  as  if  something  had  entered 
my  blood.  In  January  the  real  spring  begins,  for 
then  sap  starts,  and  the  lichens  seem  to  quicken.  I 
felt  I  was  young,  and  rose  up  against  lessons  all 
day  long  and  part  of  the  night.  I  rushed  in  haste 
to  the  woods  or  the  frozen  lake,  and  wanted  to  do 
mighty  deeds  without  knowing  what  to  undertake. 
More  than  anything  else  I  wanted  friends  of  my 


KINQ  89 

own  age.  To  see  Doctor  Chantry  dozing  and  hear 
him  grumbling,  no  longer  remained  endurable;  for 
he  reminded  me  that  my  glad  days  were  due  and  I 
was  not  receiving  them.  Worse  than  that,  instead 
of  proving  grateful  for  all  his  services,  I  became  in 
tolerant  of  his  opinion. 

"De  Chaumont  will  marry  her,"  he  said  when  he 
heard  of  Madame  de  Ferrier's  widowhood.  "She 
will  never  be  obliged  to  sue  to  the  Bonapartes.  The 
count  is  as  fond  of  her  as  he  is  of  his  daughter." 

"Must  a  woman  marry  a  succession  of  fathers?" 
— I  wanted  to  know. 

My  master  pointed  out  that  the  count  was  a  very 
well  favored  and  youthful  looking  man.  His  mar 
riage  to  Madame  de  Ferrier  became  even  more  dis 
tasteful.  She  and  her  poppet  were  complete  by 
themselves.  Wedding  her  to  any  one  was  casting 
indignity  upon  her. 

Annabel  de  Chaumont  was  a  countess  and  Mad 
ame  de  Ferrier  was  a  marquise.  These  names,  I 
understood,  meant  that  they  were  ladies  to  be  served 
and  protected.  De  Chaumont's  daughter  was  served 
and  protected,  and  as  far  as  he  was  allowed  to  do  so, 
he  served  and  protected  the  daughter  of  his  fellow 
countryman. 

"But  the  pride  of  emigres,"  Doctor  Chantry  said, 
"was  an  old  story  in  the  De  Chaumont  household. 
There  were  some  Saint-Michels  who  lived  in  a 
cabin,  strictly  on  their  own  means,  refusing  the 
count's  help,  yet  they  had  followed  him  to  Le  Ray- 
ville  in  Castorland.  Madame  de  Ferrier  lived  where 


90  I^AZARRE: 

her  husband  had  placed  her,  in  a  wing  of  De  Chau- 
mont's  house,  refusing  to  be  waited  on  by  anybody 
but  Ernestine,  paying  what  her  keeping  cost ;  when 
she  was  a  welcome  guest." 

My  master  hobbled  to  see  her.  And  I  began  to 
think  about  her  day  and  night,  as  I  had  thought 
about  my  books ;  an  isolated  little  girl  in  her  early 
teens,  mother  and  widow,  facing  a  future  like  a 
dead  wall,  with  daily  narrowing  fortunes.  The  se 
clusion  in  which  she  lived  made  her  sacred  like  a 
religious  person.  I  did  not  know  what  love  was, 
and  I  never  intended  to  dote,  like  my  poor  master. 
Before  the  end  of  January,  however,  such  a  change 
worked  in  me  that  I  was  as  fierce  for  the  vital  world 
as  I  had  been  for  the  world  of  books. 


VII 


A  TRICK  of  the  eyes,  a  sweet  turning  of  the 
mouth  corners,  the  very  color  of  the  hair — 
some  irresistible  physical  trait,  may  compel  a 
preference  in  us  that  we  cannot  control;  espe 
cially  when  we  first  notice  these  traits  in  a  woman. 
My  crying  need  grew  to  be  the  presence  of  Madame 
de  Ferrier.  It  was  youth  calling  to  youth  in  that 
gorgeous  winter  desert. 

Her  windows  were  hoar-frost  furred  without  and 
curtained  within.  Though  I  knew  where  they  were 
I  got  nothing  by  tramping  past  and  glancing  up.  I 
used  to  saunter  through  the  corridor  that  led  to  her 
rooms,  startled  yet  pleased  if  Ernestine  came  out  on 
an  errand.  Then  I  would  close  my  book  and  nod, 
and  she  would  courtesy. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  I  would  turn  to  remark,  "I 
was  passing,  and  thought  I  would  knock  and  ask 
how  Madame  de  Ferrier  is  to-day.  But  you  can 
tell  me." 

When  assured  of  Madame  de  Ferrier's  health  I 
would  continue: 

"And  Paul— how  is  Paul?" 

Paul  carried  himself  marvelously.  He  was  learn 
ing  to  walk.  Ernestine  believed  the  lie  about  knock 
ing,  and  I  felt  bolder  every  time  I  told  it. 

The  Indian  part  of  me  thought  of  going  hunting 
91 


92  IvAZARRK 

and  laying  slaughtered  game  at  their  door.  But  it 
was  a  doubtful  way  of  pleasing,  and  the  bears  hi 
bernated,  and  the  deer  were  perhaps  a  day's  journey 
in  the  white  wastes. 

I  used  to  sing  in  the  clear  sharp  air  when  I  took 
to  the  frozen  lake  and  saw  those  heights  around  me. 
I  look  back  upon  that  winter,  across  what  befell  me 
afterwards,  as  a  time  of  perfect  peace ;  before  virgin 
snows  melted,  when  the  world  was  a  white  expanse 
of  innocence. 

Our  weather-besieged  manor  was  the  center  of  it. 
Vaguely  I  knew  there  was  life  on  the  other  side  of 
great  seas,  and  that  New  York,  Boston,  Philadel 
phia,  Baltimore  and  New  Orleans  were  cities  in 
which  men  moved  and  had  their  being.  My  country, 
the  United  States,  had  bought  from  Napoleon  Bona 
parte  a  large  western  tract  called  Louisiana,  which 
belonged  to  France.  A  new  state  named  Ohio  was 
the  last  added  to  the  roll  of  commonwealths.  News 
papers,  which  the  Indian  runner  once  or  twice 
brought  us  from  Albany,  chronicled  the  doings  of 
Aaron  Burr,  Vice-President  of  the  United  States, 
who  had  recently  drawn  much  condemnation  on 
himself  by  a  brutal  duel. 

"Aaron  Burr  was  here  once/'  said  my  master. 

"What  is  he  like?"  I  inquired. 

"A  lady-killer." 

"But  he  is  next  in  dignity  to  the  President." 

Doctor  Chantry  sniffed. 

"What  is  even  the  President  of  a  federation  like 
this,  certain  to  fall  to  pieces  some  fine  day!" 


KINQ  93 

I  felt  offended ;  for  my  instinct  was  to  weld  peo~ 
pie  together  and  hold  them  so  welded. 

"If  I  were  a  president  or  a  king/'  I  told  him, 
"and  men  conspired  to  break  the  state,  instead  of 
parleying  I  would  hang  them  up  like  dogs." 

"Would  you?" 

Despising  the  country  in  which  he  found  himself, 
my  master  took  no  trouble  to  learn  its  politics.  But 
since  history  had  rubbed  against  us  in  the  person 
of  Jerome  Bonaparte,  I  wanted  to  know  what  the 
world  was  doing. 

"Colonel  Burr  had  a  pleasant  gentleman  with  him 
at  the  manor,"  Doctor  Chantry  added.  "His  name 
was  Harmon  Blennerhassett;  a  man  of  good  Eng 
lish  stock,  though  having  a  wild  Irish  strain,  which 
is  deplorable." 

The  best  days  of  that  swift  winter  were  Sundays, 
when  my  master  left  off  snapping,  and  stood  up 
reverently  in  our  dining-room  to  read  his  church 
service.  Madame  de  Ferrier  and  Paul  and  Ernes 
tine  came  from  their  apartment  to  join  in  the  Protes 
tant  ritual ;  and  I  sat  beside  them  so  constantly  that 
the  Catholic  priest  who  arrived  at  Easter  to  dress 
up  the  souls  of  the  household,  found  me  in  a  state 
of  heresy. 

I  have  always  thought  a  woman  needs  a  dark 
capping  of  hair,  whatever  her  complexion,  to  em 
phasize  her  beauty.  For  light  locks  seem  to  fray 
out  to  nothing,  and  waste  to  air  instead  of  fitly 
binding  a  lovely  countenance.  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier's  hair  was  of  exactly  the  right  color.  Her  eye- 


94  IvAZA.RRK 

brows  were  distinct  dark  lines,  and  the  lashes  were 
so  dense  that  you  noticed  the  curling  rim  they  made 
around  her  gray  eyes.  Whether  the  gift  of  looking 
to  your  core  is  beauty  or  not,  I  can  only  say  she  had 
it.  And  I  could  not  be  sworn  what  her  features 
were;  such  life  and  expression  played  over  and 
changed  them  every  moment. 

As  to  her  figure,  it  was  just  in  its  roundness  and 
suppleness,  and  had  a  lightness  of  carriage  that  I 
have  never  seen  equaled.  There  was  charm  in  look 
ing  at  without  approaching  her  that  might  have 
satisfied  me  indefinitely,  if  De  Chaumont  had  not 
come  home. 

Ernestine  herself  made  the  first  breach  in  that 
sacred  reserve.  The  old  woman  met  me  in  the  hall, 
courtesied,  and  passed  as  usual.  I  turned  behind 
the  broad  ribbons  which  hung  down  her  back  from 
cap  to  heels,  and  said : 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Ernestine,  how  is  Madame  de 
Ferrier?  I  was  going  to  knock " 

And  Ernestine  courtesied  again,  and  opened  the 
door,  standing  aside  for  me  to  enter. 

Madame  de  Ferrier  sat  on  a  bearskin  before  the 
hearth  with  Paul,  who  climbed  over  her  and  gave 
her  juicy  kisses.  There  was  a  deep  wood  fire,  up 
held  by  very  tall  andirons  having  cups  in  their  tops, 
which  afterwards  I  learned  were  called  posset  cups. 
She  was  laughing  so  that  her  white  teeth  showed, 
and  she  made  me  welcome  like  a  playmate;  re 
maining  on  the  rug,  and  bidding  Ernestine  set  a 
chair  for  me  near  the  fire. 


KINQ  95 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  spare  me  some  time, 
monsieur,"  said  Madame  de  Ferrier.  She  admon 
ished  Paul— "Don't  choke  your  little  mother." 

I  told  her  boldly  that  nothing  but  the  dread  of 
disturbing  her  kept  me  from  knocking  every  day. 
We  had  always  walked  into  the  lodges  without 
knocking,  and  I  dwelt  on  this  as  one  of  my  new 
accomplishments. 

"I  am  not  studying  night  and  day,"  she  answered. 
"Sophie  Saint-Michel  and  her  mother  were  my 
teachers,  and  they  are  gone  now,  one  to  heaven  and 
the  other  to  Castorland." 

Remembering  what  Annabel  de  Chaumont 
said  about  holy  Sophie  I  inquired  if  she  had  been 
religious. 

"The  Saint-Michels  were  better  than  religious; 
both  mother  and  daughter  were  eternally  patient 
with  the  poor  count,  whose  troubles  unsettled  his 
reason.  They  had  no  dear  old  Ernestine,  and  were 
reduced  to  the  hardest  labor.  I  was  a  little  child 
when  we  came  to  America,  yet  even  then  the  spirit 
of  the  Saint-Michels  seemed  to  me  divine." 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  when  I  was  a  little 
child." 

"Can  you  not  recall  anything?" 

"I  have  a  dim  knowledge  of  objects." 

"What  objects?" 

"St.  Regis  church,  and  my  taking  first  commu 
nion  ;  and  the  hunting,  the  woods  and  water,  boats, 
snowshoes,  the  kind  of  food  I  liked;  Skenedonk 


96  LAZARRK 

and  all  my  friends — but  I  scarcely  knew  them  as 
persons  until  I  awoke." 

"What  is  your  first  distinct  recollection?" 

"Your  face." 

"Mine?" 

"Yes,  yours,  madame.  I  saw  it  above  me  when 
you  came  into  the  room  at  night." 

She  looked  past  me  and  said : 

"You  have  fortunately  missed  some  of  the  most 
terrible  events  that  ever  happened  in  the  world, 
monsieur.  My  mother  and  father,  my  two  brothers, 
Cousin  Philippe  and  I,  were  in  prison  together. 
My  mother  and  brothers  \vere  taken,  and  we  were 
left." 

I  understood  that  she  spoke  of  the  Terror,  about 
which  I  was  eager  to  know  every  then  unwritten 
detail.  Doctor  Chantry  had  told  me  many  things. 
It  fascinated  me  far  more  than  ancient  history, 
which  my  master  was  inclined  to  press  upon  me. 

"How  can  you  go  back  to  France,  madame?" 

"That's  what  I  ask  myself  every  day.  That  life 
was  like  a  strange  nightmare.  Yet  there  was  our 
chateau,  Mont-Louis,  two  or  three  days'  journey 
east  from  Paris.  The  park  was  so  beautiful.  I 
think  of  it,  and  of  Paul." 

"And  what  about  this  country,  madame?  Is 
there  nothing  beautiful  here?" 

"The  fact  has  been  impressed  on  me,  monsieur, 
that  it  does  not  belong  to  me.  I  am  an  emigre.  In 
city  or  country  my  father  and  Cousin  Philippe  kept 
me  with  them.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  young  peo 
ple,  except  at  balls.  We  had  no  intimate  friends. 


AWAKING  97 

We  were  always  going  back.  I  am  still  waiting  to 
go  back,  monsieur — and  refusing  to  go  if  I  must." 

It  was  plain  that  her  life  had  been  as  restricted 
as  mine,  though  the  bonds  were  different  She  was 
herded  with  old  people,  made  a  wife  and  mother 
while  yet  a  child,  nursed  in  shadow  instead  of  in  the 
hot  sunshine  which  produced  Annabel  de  Chau- 
mont. 

After  that  we  met  each  other  as  comrades  meet, 
and  both  of  us  changed  like  the  face  of  nature, 
when  the  snow  went  and  warm  winds  came. 

This  looking  at  her  without  really  approaching 
was  going  on  innocently  when  one  day  Count  de 
Chaumont  rode  up  to  the  manor,  his  horse  and  his 
attendant  servants  and  horses  covered  with  mud, 
filling  the  place  with  a  rush  of  life. 

He  always  carried  himself  as  if  he  felt  extremely 
welcome  in  this  world.  And  though  a  man  ought  to 
be  welcome  in  his  own  house,  especially  when  he 
has  made  it  a  comfortable  refuge  for  outsiders,  I 
met  him  with  the  secret  resentment  we  bear  an 
interloper. 

He  looked  me  over  from  head  to  foot  with  more 
interest  than  he  had  ever  before  shown. 

"We  are  getting  on,  we  are  getting  on!  Is  it 
Doctor  Chantry,  or  the  little  madame,  or  the  winter 
housing?  Our  white  blood  is  very  much  in  evi 
dence.  When  Chief  Williams  comes  back  to  the 
summer  hunting  he  will  not  know  his  boy." 

"The  savage  is  inside  yet,  monsieur,"  I  told  him, 
"Scratch  me  and  see." 


"Not  I,"  he  laughed. 

"It  is  late  for  thanks,  but  I  will  now  thank  you 
for  taking  me  into  your  house." 

"He  has  learned  gratitude  for  little  favors !  That 
is  Madame  de  Ferrier's  work." 

"I  hope  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  that  will 
square  our  accounts." 

"That's  Doctor  Chantry's  work.  He  is  full  of  be 
nevolent  intentions — and  never  empties  himself. 
When  you  have  learned  all  your  master  knows,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  teach  our  Indians." 

"Good.  You  have  a  full  day's  work  before  you. 
Founding  an  estate  in  the  wilderness  is  nothing 
compared  to  that.  You  have  more  courage  than  De 
Chaumont." 

Whether  the  spring  or  the  return  of  De  Chau 
mont  drove  me  out,  I  could  no  longer  stay  indoors, 
but  rowed  all  day  long  on  the  lake  or  trod  the 
quickening  woods.  Before  old  Pierre  could  get  au 
dience  with  his  house  accounts,  De  Chaumont  was 
in  Madame  de  Ferrier's  rooms,  inspecting  the  wafer 
blotched  letter.  He  did  not  appear  as  depressed  as 
he  should  have  been  by  the  death  of  his  old  friend. 

"These  French  have  no  hearts,"  I  told  Doctor 
Chantry. 

He  took  off  his  horn  spectacles  and  wiped  his 
eyes,  responding: 

"But  they  find  the  way  to  ours !" 

Slipping  between  islands  in  water  paths  that 
wound  as  a  meadow  stream  winds  through  land,  I 


A  W  A  K:  I  NO  99 

tried  to  lose  myself  from  the  uneasy  pain  which 
followed  me  everywhere. 

There  may  be  people  who  look  over  the  scheme  of 
their  lives  with  entire  complacence.  Mine  has  been 
the  outcome  of  such  strange  misfortunes  as  to  fur 
nish  evidence  that  there  is  another  fate  than  the 
fate  we  make  ourselves.  In  that  early  day  I  felt 
the  unseen  lines  tighten  around  me.  I  was  nothing 
but  a  young  student  of  unknown  family,  able  to  read 
and  write,  to  talk  a  little  English,  with  some  knowl 
edge  of  history,  geography,  mathematics,  and 
Latin.  Strength  and  scope  came  by  atoms.  I  did 
not  know  then  as  I  know  now  that  I  am  a  slow 
grower,  even  when  making  gigantic  effort.  An  oak 
does  not  accumulate  rings  with  more  deliberation 
than  I  change  and  build  myself. 

My  master  told  me  a  few  days  later  that  the  count 
decreed  Madame  de  Ferrier  must  go  back  to 
France.  He  intended  to  go  with  her  and  push  her 
claim;  and  his  daughter  and  his  daughter's  gov 
erness  would  bear  them  company.  Doctor  Chantry 
and  I  contemplated  each  other,  glaring  in  mutual 
solemnity.  His  eyes  were  red  and  watery,  and  the 
nose  sharpened  its  cone. 

"When  are  they  going?"  I  inquired. 

"As  soon  as  arrangements  for  comfortable  sailing 
can  be  made.  I  wish  I  were  going  back  to  England. 
I  shall  have  to  save  twenty-five  years  before  I  can 
go,  but  the  fund  is  started." 

If  I  saved  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  I 
could  not  go  anywhere ;  for  I  had  nothing  to  save. 


ioo  I/  A  Z  A  R  R  E} 

The  worthlessness  of  civilization  rushed  over  me. 
When  I  was  an  Indian  the  boundless  world  was 
mine.  I  could  build  a  shelter,  and  take  food  and 
clothes  by  my  strength  and  skill.  My  boat  or  my 
strong  legs  carried  me  to  all  boundaries. 

I  did  not  know  what  ailed  me,  but  chased  by 
these  thoughts  to  the  lake,  I  determined  not  to  go 
back  again  to  De  Chaumont's  house.  I  was  sick, 
and  my  mother  woods  opened  her  arms.  As  if  to 
show  me  what  I  had  thrown  away  to  haunt  the 
cages  of  men,  One  of  those  strange  sights  which  is 
sometimes  seen  in  that  region  appeared  upon  the 
mountain.  No  one  can  tell  who  lights  the  torch.  A 
thread  of  fire  ran  up  like  an  opening  seam,  broad 
ened,  and  threw  out  pink  ravelings.  The  flame 
wavered,  paled  by  daylight,  but  shielding  itself  with 
strong  smoke,  and  leaped  from  ledge  to  ledge.  I 
saw  mighty  pines,  standing  one  moment  green,  and 
the  next,  columns  of  fire.  So  the  mass  diverged,  or 
ran  together  until  a  mountain  of  fire  stood  against 
the  sky,  and  stretched  its  reflection,  a  glowing  fur 
nace,  across  the  water. 

Flecks  of  ash  sifted  on  me  in  the  boat.  I  felt  my 
self  a  part  of  it,  as  I  felt  myself  a  part  of  the  many 
sunsets  which  had  burned  out  On  that  lake.  Before 
night  I  penetrated  to  the  heart  of  an  island  so  dense 
ly  overgrown,  even  in  spring  when  trees  had  no 
curtains,  that  you  were  lost  as  in  a  thousand  mile 
forest.  I  camped  there  in  a  dry  ravine,  with  hem 
lock  boughs  under  and  over  me,  and  next  day  rolled 


A  W  A  K:  I  K  G  101 

broken  logs,  and  cut  poles  and  evergreens  with  my 
knife,  to  make  a  lodge. 

It  was  boyish,  unmannerly  conduct;  but  the 
world  had  broken,  to  chaos  around  me;  and  I  set 
up  the  rough  refuge  with  skill.  Some  books,  my 
fish  line  and  knife,  were  always  in  the  boat  with  me, 
as  well  as  a  box  of  tinder.  I  could  go  to  the  shore, 
get  a  breakfast  out  of  the  water,  and  cook  it  myself. 
Yet  all  that  day  I  kept  my  fast,  having  no  appe 
tite. 

Perhaps  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  expected 
somebody  to  be  sent  after  me,  bearing  large  induce 
ments  to  return.  We  never  can  believe  we  are  not 
valuable  to  our  fellows.  Pierre  or  Jean,  or  some 
other  servants  in  the  house,  might  perforce  nose  me 
out.  I  resolved  to  hide  if  such  an  envoy  approached 
and  to  have  speech  with  nobody.  We  are  more  or 
less  ashamed  of  our  secret  wounds,  and  I  was  not 
going  to  have  Pierre  or  Jean  report  that  I  sat  sulk 
ing  in  the  woods  on  an  island. 

It  was  very  probable  that  De  Chaumont's  house 
hold  gave  itself  no  trouble  about  my  disappearance. 
I  sat  on  my  hemlock  floor  until  the  gray  of  twilight 
and  studied  Latin,  keeping  my  mind  on  the  text; 
save  when  a  squirrel  ventured  out  and  glided  bushy 
trained  and  sinuous  before  me,  or  the  marble  birches 
with  ebony  limbs,  drew  me  to  gloat  on  them.  The 
white  birch  is  a  woman  and  a  goddess.  I  have 
associated  her  forever  with  that  afternoon.  Her 
poor  cousin  the  poplar,  often  so  like  her  as  to  deceive 
you  until  ashen  bough  and  rounded  leaf  instruct  the 


102  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E^ 

eye,  always  grows  near  her  like  a  protecting  servant. 
The  poor  cousin  rustles  and  fusses.  But  my  calm 
lady  stands  in  perfect  beauty,  among  pines  straight 
as  candles,  never  tremulous,  never  trivial.  All  ala 
baster  and  ebony,  she  glows  from  a  distance;  as, 
thinking  of  her,  I  saw  another  figure  glow  through 
the  loop-holes  of  the  woods. 
It  was  Madame  de  Ferrier. 


VIII 

A  LEAP  of  the  heart  and  dizziness  shot  through 
me  and  blurred  my  sight.     The  reality  of 
Madame  de  Ferrier's  coming  to  seek  me  surpassed 
all  imaginings. 

She  walked  with  quick  accustomed  step,  parting 
the  second  growth  in  her  way,  having  tracked  me 
from  the  boat.  Seeing  my  lodge  in  the  ravine  she 
paused,  her  face  changing  as  the  lake  changes ;  and 
caught  her  breath.  I  stood  exultant  and  ashamed 
down  to  the  ground. 

"Monsieur,  what  are  you  doing  here?"  Madame 
de  Ferrier  cried  out. 

"Living,  madame,"  I  responded. 

"Living  ?  Do  you  mean  you  have  returned  to  your 
old  habits?" 

"I  have  returned  to  the  woods,  madame." 

"You  do  not  intend  to  stay  here  ?" 

"Perhaps." 

"You  must  not  do  it !" 

"What  must  I  do?" 

"Come  back  to  the  house.  You  have  given  us 
much  anxiety." 

I  liked  the  word  "us"  until  I  remembered  it  in 
cluded  Count  de  Chaumont 

"Why  did  you  come  out  here  and  hide  your 
self?" 

103 


104  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

My  conduct  appeared  contemptible.  I  looked 
mut'ely  at  her. 

" What  offended  you?" 

"Nothing,  madame." 

"Did  you  want  Doctor  Chantry  to  lame  himself 
hobbling  around  in  search  of  you,  and  the  count  to 
send  people  out  in  every  direction?" 

"No,  madame." 

"What  explanation  will  you  make  to  the  count?" 

"None,  madame."  I  raised  my  head.  "I  may  go 
out  in  the  woods  without  asking  leave  of  Count  de 
Chaumont." 

"He  says  you  have  forsaken  your  books  and  gone 
back  to  be  an  Indian." 

I  showed  her  the  Latin  book  in  my  hand.  She 
glanced  slightly  at  it,  and  continued  to  make  her 
gray  eyes  pass  through  my  marrow. 

Shifting  like  a  culprit,  I  inquired : 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  here?" 

"Oh,  it  was  not  hard  to  find  you  after  I  saw  the 
boat.  This  island  is  not  large." 

"But  who  rowed  you  across  the  lake,  madame?" 

"I  came  by  myself,  and  nobody  except  Ernestine 
knows  it.  I  can  row  a  boat.  I  slipped  through  the 
tunnel,  and  ventured." 

"Madame,  I  am  a  great  fool.  I  am  not  worth 
your  venturing." 

"You  are  worth  any  danger  I  might  encounter. 
But  you  should  at  least  go  back  for  me." 

"I  will  do  anything  for  you,  madame.  But  why 
should  I  go  back? — you  will  not  long  be  there." 


A  W  -A.  K  I  N  O  105 

"What  does  that  matter?  The  important  thing 
is  that  you  should  not  lapse  again  into  the  Indian." 

"Is  any  life  but  the  life  of  an  Indian  open  to  me, 
madame  ?" 

She  struck  her  hands  together  with  a  scream. 

"Louis!  Sire!" 

Startled,  I  dropped  the  book  and  it  sprawled  at 
her  feet  like  the  open  missal.  She  had  returned  so 
unexpectedly  to  the  spirit  of  our  first  meeting. 

"O,  if  you  knew  what  you  are !  During  my  whole 
life  your  name  has  been  cherished  by  my  family. 
We  believed  you  would  sometime  come  to  your  own. 
Believe  in  yourself !" 

I  seemed  almost  to  remember  and  perceive  what 
I  was — as  you  see  in  mirage  one  inverted  boat  poised 
on  another,  and  are  not  quite  sure,  and  the  strange 
thing  is  gone. 

Perhaps  I  was  less  sure  of  the  past  because  I  was 
so  sure  of  the  present.  A  wisp  of  brown  mist  set 
tling  among  the  trees  spread  cloud  behind  her.  What 
I  wanted  was  this  woman,  to  hide  in  the  woods 
for  my  own.  I  could  feed  and  clothe  her,  deck  her 
with  necklaces  of  garnets  from  the  rocks,  and 
wreaths  of  the  delicate  sand-wort  flower.  She  said 
she  would  rather  make  Paul  a  woodchopper  than  a 
suppliant,  taking  the  constitutional  oath.  I  could 
make  him  a  hunter  and  a  fisherman.  Game,  bass, 
trout,  pickerel,  grew  for  us  in  abundance.  I  saw 
this  vision  with  a  single  eye;  it  looked  so  pos 
sible!  All  the  crude  imaginings  of  youth  colored 


io6  L  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

the  spring  woods  with  vivid  beauty.  My  face  be 
trayed  me,  and  she  spoke  to  me  coldly. 

"Is  that  your  house,  monsieur?" 

I  said  it  was. 

"And  you  slept  there  last  night?" 

"I  can  build  a  much  better  one." 

"What  did  you  have  for  dinner?" 

"Nothing." 

"What  did  you  have  for  breakfast?" 

"Nothing." 

Evidently  the  life  I  proposed  to  myself  to  offer 
her  would  not  suit  my  lady ! 

She  took  a  lacquered  box  from  the  cover  of  her 
wrappings,  and  moved  down  the  slope  a  few  steps. 

"Come  here  to  your  mother  and  get  your  sup- 
per." 

I  felt  tears  rush  to  my  eyes.  She  sat  down,  spread 
a  square  of  clean  fringed  linen  upon  the  ground, 
and  laid  out  crusty  rounds  of  buttered  bread  that 
were  fragrant  in  the  springing  fragrance  of  the 
woods,  firm  slices  of  cold  meat,  and  a  cunning  pastry 
which  instantly  maddened  me.  I  was  ashamed  to  be 
such  a  wolf. 

We  sat  with  our  forest  table  between  us  and  ate 
together. 

"I  am  hungry  myself,"  she  said. 

A  glorified  veil  descended  on  the  world.  If  even 
ing  had  paused  while  that  meal  was  in  progress  it 
would  not  have  surprised  me.  There  are  half  hours 
that  dilate  to  the  importance  of  centuries.  But  when 
she  had  encouraged  me  to  eat  everything  to  the  last 


A.  W  A  K  I  N  Q  IQ7 

crumb,  she  shook  the  fringed  napkin,  gathered  up 
the  lacquered  box,  and  said  she  must  be  gone. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  overstepped  the  bounds  of  be 
havior  in  coming  after  you,  The  case  was  too 
urgent  for  consideration  of  myself.  I  must  hurry 
back,  for  the  count's  people  would  not  understand 
my  secret  errand  through  the  tunnel.  Will  you 
show  yourself  at  the  house  as  soon  as  possible?" 

I  told  her  humbly  that  I  would. 

"But  let  me  put  you  in  the  boat,  madame." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  may  follow,  after  I 
am  out  of  sight.  If  you  fail  to  follow" — she  turned 
in  the  act  of  departing  and  looked  me  through. 

I  told  her  I  would  not  fail. 

When  Madame  de  Ferrier  disappeared  beyond 
the  bushes  I  sat  down  and  waited  with  my  head 
between  my  hands,  still  seeing  upon  closed  eyelids 
her  figure,  the  scant  frock  drawn  around  it,  her  cap 
of  dark  hair  under  a  hood,  her  face  moving  from 
change  to  change.  And  whether  I  sat  a  year  or  a 
minute,  clouds  had  descended  when  I  looked,  as  they 
often  did  in  that  lake  gorge.  So  I  waited  no  longer, 
but  followed  her. 

The  fog  was  brown,  and  capped  the  evening  like 
a  solid  dome,  pressing  down  to  the  earth,  and  twist 
ing  smoke  fashion  around  my  feet.  It  threw  sinu 
ous  arms  in  front  of  me  as  a  thing  endowed  with 
life  and  capable  of  molding  itself;  and  when  I 
reached  my  boat  and  pushed  off  on  the  water,  a  vast 
mass  received  and  enveloped  me. 

More  penetrating  than  its  clamminess  was  the 


io8  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

thought  that  Madame  de  Ferrier  was  out  in  it 
alone. 

I  tried  one  of  the  long  calls  we  sometimes  used  in 
hunting.  She  might  hear,  and  understand  that  I 
was  near  to  help  her.  But  it  was  shouting  against 
many  walls.  No  effort  pierced  the  muffling  sub 
stance  which  rolled  thickly  against  the  lungs.  Re 
membering  it  was  possible  to  override  smaller  craft, 
I  pulled  with  caution,  and  so  bumped  lightly  against 
the  boat  that  by  lucky  chance  hovered  in  my  track. 

"Is  it  you,  madame  ?"  I  asked. 

She  hesitated. 

"Is  it  you,  monsieur?" 

"Yes." 

"I  think  I  am  lost.  There  is  no  shore.  The  fog 
closed  around  me  so  soon.  I  was  waiting  for  it  to 
lift  a  little." 

"It  may  not  lift  until  morning,  madame.  Let  me 
tie  your  boat  to  mine." 

"Do  you  know  the  way  ?" 

"There  is  no  way.  We  shall  have  to  feel  for  the 
shore.  But  Lake  George  is  narrow,  and  I  know 
it  well." 

"I  want  to  keep  near  you." 

"Come  into  my  boat,  and  let  me  tie  the  other  one 
astern." 

She  hesitated  again,  but  decided,  "That  would 
be  best." 

I  drew  the  frail  shells  together — they  seemed  very 
frail  above  such  depths — and  helped  her  cross  the 
edges.  We  were  probably  the  only  people  on  Lake 


KINQ  109 

George.  Tinder  lighted  in  one  boat  would  scarcely 
have  shown  us  the  other,  though  in  the  sky  an  oval 
moon  began  to  make  itself  seen  amidst  rags  of  fog. 
The  dense  eclipse  around  us  and  the  changing  light 
overhead  were  very  weird. 

Madame  de  Ferrier's  hands  chilled  mine,  and  she 
shook  in  her  thin  cape  and  hood.  Our  garments 
were  saturated.  I  felt  moisture  trickling  down  my 
hair  and  dropping  on  my  shoulders. 

She  was  full  of  vital  courage,  resisting  the  deadly 
chill.  This  was  not  a  summer  fog,  lightly  to  be 
traversed.  It  went  dank  through  the  bones.  When 
I  had  helped  her  to  a  bench,  remembering  there  was 
nothing  dry  to  wrap  around  her,  I  slipped  off  my 
coat  and  forcibly  added  its  thickness  to  her  shoul 
ders. 

"Do  you  think  I  will  let  you  do  that,  monsieur?" 

My  teeth  chattered  and  shocked  together  so  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  from  laughing,  as  I  told 
her  I  always  preferred  to  be  coatless  when  I  rowed 
a  boat. 

We  could  see  each  other  by  the  high  light  that 
sometimes  gilded  the  face,  and  sometimes  was  tar 
nished  almost  to  eclipse.  Madame  de  Ferrier  crept 
forward,  and  before  I  knew  her  intention,  cast  my 
garment  again  around  me.  I  helped  the  boat  shift 
its  balance  so  she  would  have  to  grasp  at  me  for 
support ;  the  chilled  round  shape  of  her  arm  in  my 
hand  sent  waves  of  fire  through  me.  With  brazen 
cunning,  moreover,  that  surprised  myself,  instead 
of  pleading,  I  dictated. 


no  LRRH 

"Sit  beside  me  on  the  rower's  bench,  madame, 
and  the  coat  will  stretch  around  both  of  us." 

Like  a  child  she  obeyed.  We  were  indeed  reduced 
to  saving  the  warmth  of  our  bodies.  I  shipped  my 
oars  and  took  one  for  a  paddle,  bidding  Madame  de 
Ferrier  to  hold  the  covering  in  place  while  I  felt  for 
the  shore.  She  did  so,  her  arm  crossing  my  breast, 
her  soft  body  touching  mine.  She  was  cold  and  still 
as  the  cloud  in  which  we  moved ;  but  I  was  a  god, 
riding  triumphantly  high  above  the  world,  satisfied 
to  float  through  celestial  regions  forever,  bearing  in 
my  breast  an  unquenchable  coal  of  fire. 

The  moon  played  tricks,  for  now  she  was  astern, 
and  now  straight  ahead,  in  that  confusing  wilderness 
of  vapor. 

"Madame,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  "why  have 
you  been  persuaded  to  go  back  to  France?" 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"I  have  not  been  persuaded.  I  have  been  forced 
by  circumstances.  Paul's  future  is  everything." 

"You  said  you  would  rather  make  him  a  wood- 
chopper  than  a  suppliant  to  the  Bonapartes." 

"I  would.  But  his  rights  are  to  be  considered 
first.  He  has  some  small  chance  of  regaining  his 
inheritance  through  the  influence  of  Count  de 
Chaumont  now.  Hereafter  there  may  be  no  chance. 
You  know  the  fortunes  and  lands  of  all  emigres 
were  forfeited  to  the  state.  Ours  have  finally 
reached  the  hands  of  one  of  Napoleon's  officers.  I 
do  not  know  what  will  be  done.  I  only  know  that 
Paul  must  never  have  cause  to  reproach  me." 


A.  W  A.  KI  N  O  Hi 

I  was  obliged  to  do  my  duty  in  my  place 
as  she  was  doing  her  duty  in  hers;  but  I  wished 
the  boat  would  sink,  and  so  end  all  journeys  to 
France.  It  touched  shore,  on  the  contrary,  and  I 
grasped  a  rock  which  jutted  toward  us.  It  might 
be  the  point  of  an  island,  it  might  be  the  eastern 
land,  as  I  was  inclined  to  believe,  for  the  moon  was 
over  our  right  shoulders. 

Probing  along  with  the  oar  I  found  a  cove  and  a 
shallow  bottom,  and  there  I  beached  our  craft  with 
a  great  shove. 

"How  good  the  earth  feels  underfoot!"  said  Ma 
dame  de  Ferrier.  We  were  both  stiff.  I  drew  the 
boats  where  they  could  not  be  floated  away,  and  we 
turned  our  faces  to  the  unknown.  I  took  her  unre 
sisting  arm  to  guide  her,  and  she  depended  upon 
me. 

This  day  I  look  back  at  those  young  figures  grop 
ing  through  cloud  as  at  disembodied  and  blessed 
spirits.  The  man's  intensest  tenderness,  restrained 
by  his  virginhood  and  his  awe  of  the  supple  delicate 
shape  at  his  side,  was  put  forth  only  in  her  service. 
They  walked  against  bushes.  He  broke  a  stick,  and 
with  it  probed  every  yard  of  the  ascent  which  they 
were  obliged  to  make.  Helping  his  companion  from 
bush  to  log,  from  seam  to  seam  of  the  riven  slope, 
from  ledge  to  ledge,  he  brought  her  to  a  level  of 
high  forest  where  the  fog  was  thinner,  and  branches 
interlaced  across  their  faces. 

The  climb  made  Madame  de  Ferrier  draw  her 
breath  quickly.  She  laughed  when  we  ended  it. 


ii2  v  R 

Though  I  knew  the  shores  as  well  as  a  hunter,  it 
was  impossible  to  recognize  any  landmark.  The 
trees,  the  moss,  and  forest  sponge  under  our  feet, 
the  very  rocks,  were  changed  by  that  weird  medium. 
And  when  the  fog  opened  and  we  walked  as 
through  an  endless  tunnel  of  gray  revolving  stone, 
it  was  into  a  world  that  never  existed  before  and 
would  never  exist  again. 

There  was  no  path.  Creeping  under  and  climbing 
over  obstacles,  sometimes  enclosed  by  the  white 
ness  of  steam,  sometimes  walking  briskly  across 
lighted  spaces,  we  reached  a  gorge  smoking  as  the 
lake  smoked  in  the  chill  of  early  mornings.  Vapor 
played  all  its  freaks  on  that  brink.  The  edge  had 
been  sharply  defined.  But  the  fog  shut  around  us 
like  a  curtain,  and  we  dared  not  stir. 

Below,  a  medallion  shaped  rift  widened  out,  and 
showed  us  a  scene  as  I  have  since  beheld  such 
things  appear  upon  the  stage.  Within  the  round 
changing  frame  of  wispy  vapor  two  men  sat  by  a 
fire  of  logs  and  branches.  We  could  smell  wood 
smoke,  and  hear  the  branches  crackle,  convincing 
us  the  vision  was  real.  Behind  them  stood  a  cabin 
almost  as  rude  as  my  shelter  on  the  island. 

One  man  was  a  grand  fellow,  not  at  all  of  the 
common  order,  though  he  was  more  plainly  clothed 
than  De  Chaumont.  His  face  was  so  familiar  that 
I  almost  grasped  recognition — but  missed  it.  The 
whole  cast  was  full  and  aquiline,  and  the  lobe  of  his 
ear,  as  I  noticed  when  light  fell  on  his  profile,  sat 
close  to  his  head  like  mine. 


K:INQ  "3 

The  other  man  worked  his  feet  upon  the  treadle 
of  a  small  wheel,  which  revolved  like  a  circular  table 
in  front  of  him,  and  on  this  he  deftly  touched  some 
thing  which  appeared  to  be  an  earthenware  vessel. 
His  thin  fingers  moved  with  spider  swiftness,  and 
shaped  it  with  a  kind  of  magic.  He  was  a  mad 
looking  person,  with  an  air  of  being  tremendously 
driven  by  inner  force.  He  wore  mustaches  the  like 
of  which  I  had  never  seen,  carried  back  over  his 
ears;  and  these  hairy  devices  seemed  to  split  his 
countenance  in  two  crosswise. 

Some  broken  pottery  lay  on  the  ground,  and  a  few 
vessels,  colored  and  lustrous  so  they  shone  in  the 
firelight,  stood  on  a  stump  near  him. 

The  hollow  was  not  a  deep  one,  but  if  the  men  had 
been  talking,  their  voices  did  not  reach  us  until  the 
curtain  parted. 

"You  are  a  great  fool  or  a  great  rascal,  or  both, 
Bellenger,"  the  superior  man  said. 

"Most  people  are,  your  highness,"  responded  the 
one  at  the  wheel.  He  kept  it  going,  as  if  his  earth 
enware  was  of  more  importance  than  the  talk. 

"You  are  living  a  miserable  life,  roving  about." 

"Many  other  Frenchmen  are  no  better  off  than  I 
am,  my  prince." 

"True  enough.    I've  roved  about  myself." 

"Did  you  turn  schoolmaster  in  Switzerland, 
prince  ?" 

"I  did.    My  family  are  in  Switzerland  now." 

"Some  of  the  nobles  were  pillaged  by  their  peas- 


114  IvAZARRE 

ants  as  well  as  by  the  government.  But  your  house 
should  not  have  lost  everything/' 

"You  are  mistaken  about  our  losses.  The  Or 
leans  Bourbons  have  little  or  no  revenue  left.  Mon 
sieur  and  Artois  were  the  Bourbons  able  to  maintain 
a  court  about  them  in  exile.  So  you  have  to  turn 
potter,  to  help  support  the  idiot  and  yourself?" 

"Is  your  highness  interested  in  art?" 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  art?" 

"But  your  highness  can  understand  how  an  idea 
will  haunt  a  man.  It  is  true  I  live  a  wretched  life, 
but  I  amuse  myself  trying  to  produce  a  perfect  vase. 
I  have  broken  thousands.  If  a  shape  answers  my 
expectations,  that  very  shape  is  certain  to  crack  in 
the  burning  or  run  in  the  glaze." 

"Then  you  don't  make  things  to  sell  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  make  noggins  and  crockery  to  sell  in 
the  towns.  There  is  a  kind  of  clay  in  these  hills  that 
suits  me." 

"The  wonderful  vase,"  said  the  other  yawning, 
"might  perhaps  interest  me  more  if  some  facts  were 
not  pressing  for  discussion.  I  am  a  man  of  benevo 
lent  disposition,  Bellenger." 

"Your  royal  highness " 

"Stop !  I  have  been  a  revolutionist,  like  my  poor 
father,  whose  memory  you  were  about  to  touch — 
and  I  forbid  it.  But  I  am  a  man  whose  will  it  is  to 
do  good.  It  is  impossible  I  should  search  you  out 
in  America  to  harm  my  royal  cousin.  Now  I  want 
to  know  the  truth  about  him." 


A  WAK  I  NO  "5 

Madame  de  Ferrier  had  forgotten  her  breath.  We 
both  stood  fastened  on  that  scene  in  another  world, 
guiltless  of  eavesdropping. 

The  potter  shifted  his  eyes  from  side  to  side, 
seeming  to  follow  the  burr  of  his  vessel  upon  the 
wheel. 

"I  find  you  with  a  creature  I  cannot  recognize 
as  my  royal  cousin.  If  this  is  he,  sunk  far  lower 
than  when  he  left  France  in  your  charge,  why  are 
two-thirds  of  his  pension  sent  out  from  New  York 
to  another  person,  while  you  receive  for  his  main 
tenance  only  one-third?" 

The  potter  bounded  from  his  wheel,  letting  the 
vessel  spin  off  to  destruction,  and  danced,  stretch 
ing  his  long  mustaches  abroad  in  both  hands  as  the 
ancients  must  have  rent  their  clothes.  He  cried  that 
he  had  been  cheated,  stripped,  starved. 

"I  thought  they  were  straitened  in  Monsieur's 
court,"  he  raged,  "and  they  have  been  maintaining 
a  false  dauphin !" 

"As  I  said,  Bellenger,"  remarked  his  superior, 
"you  are  either  a  fool  or  the  greatest  rascal  I  ever 
saw." 

He  looked  at  Bellenger  attentively. 

"Yet  why  should  you  want  to  mix  clues — and  be 
rewarded  with  evident  misery  ?  And  how  could  you 
lose  him  out  of  your  hand  and  remain  unconscious 
of  it?  He  was  sent  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for 
safety — poor  shattered  child ! — and  if  he  is  safe  else 
where,  why  should  you  be  pensioned  to  maintain 
another  child?  They  say  that  a  Bourbon  never 


n6  LAZARRB 

learns  anything ;  but  I  protest  that  a  Bourbon  knows 
well  what  he  does  know.  I  feel  sure  my  uncle 
intends  no  harm  to  the  disabled  heir.  Who  is  guilty 
of  this  double  dealing?  I  confess  I  don't  understand 
it." 

Now  whether  by  our  long  and  silent  stare  we  drew 
his  regard,  or  chance  cast  his  eye  upward,  the  potter 
that  instant  saw  us  standing  in  the  cloud  above  him. 
He  dropped  by  his  motionless  wheel,  all  turned  to 
clay  himself.  The  eyeballs  stuck  from  his  face.  He 
opened  his  mouth  and  screeched  as  if  he  had  been 
started  and  could  not  leave  off — 

"The  king!— the  king!— the  king!— the  king!" 


HE  fool's  outcry  startled  me  less  than  Ma 
dame  de  Ferrier.  She  fell  against  me  and 
sank  downward,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  hold 
her  up  in  my  arms.  I  had  never  seen  a  woman 
swoon.  I  thought  she  was  dying,  and  shouted  to 
them  below  to  come  and  help  me. 

The  potter  sat  sprawling  on  the  ground,  and  did 
not  bestir  himself  to  do  anything.  As  soon  as  my 
hands  and  mind  were  free  I  took  him  by  the  scruff 
of  the  neck  and  kicked  him  behind  with  a  good 
will.  My  rage  at  him  for  disregarding  her  state  was 
the  savage  rage  of  an  Iroquois.  The  other  man 
laughed  until  the  woods  rang.  Madame  de  Ferrier 
sat  up  in  what  seemed  to  me  a  miraculous  manner. 
We  bathed  her  temples  with  brandy,  and  put  her  on 
a  cushion  of  leaves  raked  up  and  dried  to  make  a 
seat  by  the  fire.  The  other  man,  who  helped  me  car 
ry  her  into  the  ravine,  stood  with  his  hat  off,  as  was 
her  due.  She  thanked  him  and  thanked  me,  half 
shrouding  her  face  with  her  hood,  abashed  at  finding 
herself  lost  among  strangers  in  the  night;  which 
was  my  fault.  I  told  him  I  had  been  a  bad  guide 
for  a  lady  who  had  missed  her  way;  and  he  said 
we  were  fortunate  to  reach  a  camp  instead  of  stum 
bling  into  some  danger. 

He  was  much  older  than  I,  at  least  fourteen  years, 
"7 


ii8 


I  learned  afterwards,  but  it  was  like  meeting  Skene- 
donk  again,  or  some  friend  from  whom  I  had  only 
been  parted. 

The  heartening  warmth  of  the  fire  made  steam 
go  up  from  our  clothes;  and  seeing  Madame  de 
Ferrier  alive  once  more,  and  the  potter  the  other 
side  of  his  wheel  taking  stock  of  his  hurt,  I  felt 
happy. 

We  could  hear  in  the  cabin  behind  us  a  whining 
like  that  uttered  by  a  fretful  babe. 

My  rage  at  the  potter  ending  in  good  nature,  I 
moved  to  make  some  amends  for  my  haste  ;  but  he 
backed  off. 

"You  startled  us,"  said  the  other  man,  "standing 
up  in  the  clouds  like  ghosts.  And  your  resemblance 
to  one  who  has  been  dead  many  years  is  very  strik 
ing,  monsieur." 

I  said  I  was  sorry  if  I  had  kicked  the  potter  with 
out  warrant,  but  it  seemed  to  me  a  base  act  to  hesi 
tate  when  help  was  asked  for  a  woman. 

"Yet  I  know  little  of  what  is  right  among  men, 
monsieur,"  I  owned.  "I  have  been  learning  with  a 
master  in  Count  de  Chaumont's  manor  house  less 
than  a  year.  Before  that  my  life  was  spent  in  the 
woods  with  the  Indians,  and  they  found  me  so  dull 
that  I  was  considered  witless  until  my  mind  awoke." 

"You  are  a  fine  fellow,"  the  man  said,  laying  his 
hands  on  my  shoulders.  "My  heart  goes  out  to  you. 
You  may  call  me  Louis  Philippe.  And  what  may  I 
call  you  ?" 

"Lazarre." 


A  w  A  K:  i  N  a  ng 

He  had  a  smiling  good  face,  square,  but  well 
curved  and  firm.  Now  that  I  saw  him  fronting  me  I 
could  trace  his  clear  eyebrows,  high  forehead,  and 
the  laughter  lines  down  his  cheeks.  He  was  long 
between  the  eyes  and  mouth,  and  he  had  a  full  and 
resolute  chin. 

"You  are  not  fat,  Lazarre,"  said  Philippe,  "your 
forehead  is  wide  rather  than  receding,  and  you  have 
not  a  double  chin.  Otherwise  you  are  the  image  of 
one —  Who  are  you?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know  who  you  are?" 

"No.  We  heard  all  that  you  and  the  potter  were 
saying  down  here,  and  I  wondered  how  many  boys 
there  are  in  America  that  are  provided  for  through 
an  agent  in  New  York,  without  knowing  their  par 
ents.  Now  that  is  my  case." 

"Do  you  say  you  have  lived  among  the  Indians?" 

"Yes :  among  the  Iroquois." 

"Who  placed  you  there?" 

"No  one  could  tell  me  except  my  Indian  father; 
and  he  would  not  tell." 

"Do  you  remember  nothing  of  your  childhood?" 

"Nothing." 

"Did  you  ever  see  Bellenger  before  ?" 

"I  never  saw  him  before  to-night." 

"But  I  saw  him,"  said  Madame  de  Ferrier,  "in 
London,  when  I  was  about  seven  years  old.  It  made 
a  stronger  impression  on  me  than  anything  else  that 
ever  happened  in  my  life,  except" — she  stopped- 


120  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

"Except  the  taking  off  of  my  mother  and  brothers 
to  the  guillotine." 

The  man  who  told  me  to  call  him  Louis  Philippe 
turned  toward  her,  with  attention  as  careful  as  his 
avoidance  when  she  wished  to  be  unobserved.  She 
rose,  and  came  around  the  fire,  making  a  deep  cour 
tesy. 

"My  family  may  not  be  unknown  to  his  royal 
highness  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  We  are  De  Ferriers 
of  Mont-Louis ;  emigres  now,  like  many  others." 

"Madame,  I  knew  your  family  well.  They  were 
loyal  to  their  king." 

"My  father  died  here  in  America.  Before  we 
sailed  we  saw  this  man  in  London." 

"And  with  him—" 

"A  boy." 

"Do  you  remember  the  boy  well  ?" 

"I  remember  him  perfectly." 

The  wailing  in  the  cabin  became  louder  and 
turned  to  insistent  animal  howls.  Instead  of  a  babe 
the  imprisoned  creature  was  evidently  a  dog.  I 
wondered  that  the  potter  did  not  let  him  out  to 
warm  his  hide  at  the  fire. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  boy  again  ?" 

"I  did  not  see  him  again  until  he  was  brought  to 
Count  de  Chaumont's  house  last  summer." 

"Why  to  De  Chaumont?  Le  Ray  de  Chaumont 
is  not  one  of  us.  He  is  of  the  new  nobility.  His 
chateau  near  Blois  was  bought  by  his  grandfather, 
and  he  takes  his  name  from  the  estate.  I  have  heard 
he  is  in  favor  with  Bonaparte." 


A  W  A  KI  I  N  Q  121 

"Even  we  of  the  old  nobility,  prince,  may  be  re 
duced  to  seek  favor  of  Bonaparte." 

"Heaven  forbid,  madame.  I  say  nothing  against 
him ;  though  I  could  say  much." 

"Say  nothing  against  Count  de  Chaumont.  Count 
de  Chaumont  befriends  all  emigres." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  against  Count  de  Chau 
mont.  He  is  not  of  our  party;  he  is  of  the  new. 
Fools !  If  we  princes  had  stood  by  each  other  as  the 
friends  of  the  Empire  stand  by  their  emperor,  we 
could  have  killed  the  Terror." 

The  animal  in  the  cabin  by  this  time  was  making 
such  doleful  cries  I  said  to  the  potter, 

"Let  him  out.  It  is  dreadful  to  be  shut  in  by 
walls." 

The  potter,  stooping  half  over  and  rolling  stiffly 
from  foot  to  foot  in  his  walk,  filled  me  with  com 
punction  at  having  been  brutal  to  so  pitiful  a  crea 
ture,  and  I  hurried  to  open  the  door  for  him.  The 
animal  clawed  vigorously  inside,  and  the  instant  I 
pushed  back  the  ill-fitted  slabs,  it  strained  through 
and  rushed  on  all  fours  to  the  fire.  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier  fled  backward,  for  what  I  liberated  could  hardly 
be  seen  without  dread. 

It  was  a  human  being.  Its  features  were  a  boy's, 
and  the  tousled  hair  had  a  natural  wave.  While  it 
crouched  for  warmth  I  felt  the  shock  of  seeing  a 
creature  about  my  own  age  grinning  back  at  me, 
fishy  eyed  and  black  mouthed. 

"There!"  Bellenger  said,  straightening  up  in  his 


122  1^  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

place  like  a  bear  rising  from  all  fours.  "That  is  the 
boy  your  De  Ferriers  saw  in  London." 

I  remembered  the  boy  Madame  Tank  had  told 
about.  Whether  myself  or  this  less  fortunate  crea 
ture  was  the  boy,  my  heart  went  very  pitiful  toward 
him.  Madame  de  Ferrier  stooped  and  examined 
him;  he  made  a  juicy  noise  of  delight  with  his 
mouth. 

"This  is  not  the  boy  you  had  in  London,  mon 
sieur,"  she  said  to  Bellenger. 

The  potter  waved  his  hands  and  shrugged. 

"You  believe,  madame,  that  Lazarre  is  the  boy 
you  saw  in  London?"  said  Louis  Philippe. 

"I  am  certain  of  it." 

"What  proofs  have  you  ?" 

"The  evidence  of  my  eyes.H 

"Tell  that  to  Monsieur!"  exclaimed  the  potter. 

"Who  is  Monsieur?"  I  asked. 

"The  eldest  brother  of  the  king  of  France  is  called 
Monsieur.  The  Count  de  Provence  will  be  called 
Monsieur  until  he  succeeds  Louis  XVII  and  is 
crowned  Louis  XVIII — if  that  time  ever  comes. 
He  cannot  be  called  Louis  XVII" — the  man  who 
told  me  to  call  him  Louis  Philippe  took  my  arm, 
and  I  found  myself  welking  back  and  forth  with  him 
as  in  a  dream  while  he  carefully  formed  sentence 
after  sentence.  "Because  the  dauphin  who  died  in 
the  Temple  prison  was  Louis  XVII.  But  there  are 
a  few  who  say  he  did  not  die :  that  a  dying  child  was 
substituted  for  him :  that  he  was  smuggled  out  and 
carried  to  America.  Bellenger  was  the  agent  em- 


A  W  A  PC  I  K  O  i*3 

ployed.  The  dauphin's  sister  is  married  to  her 
cousin,  the  nephew  of  Monsieur.  She  herself  be 
lieves  these  things ;  and  it  is  certain  a  sum  of  money 
is  sent  out  to  America  every  year  for  his  mainte 
nance.  He  was  reduced  to  imbecility  when  removed 
from  the  Temple.  It  is  not  known  v/hether  he  will 
ever  be  fit  to  reign  if  the  kingdom  returns  to  him. 
No  communication  has  been  held  with  him.  He  was 
nine  years  old  when  removed  from  the  Temple:  he 
would  now  be  in  his  nineteenth  year.  When  I  last 
saw  him  he  was  a  smiling  little  prince  with  waving 
hair  and  hazel  eyes,  holding  to  his  mother's  hand" — 

"Stop !" 

The  frenzy  of  half  recollection  came  on  me,  and 
that  which  I  had  put  away  from  my  mind  and  sworn 
to  let  alone,  seized  and  convulsed  me.  Dreams,  and 
sensations,  and  instincts  massed  and  fell  upon  me  in 
an  avalanche  of  conviction. 

I  was  that  uncrowned  outcast,  the  king  of  France  I 


BOOK  II 


WANDERING 


I. 


A  PRIMROSE  dawn  of  spring  touched  the 
mountains  as  Madame  de  Ferrier  and  I 
stepped  into  the  tunnel's  mouth.  The  wind  that 
goes  like  a  besom  before  sunrise,  swept  off  the 
fog  to  corners  of  the  sky,  except  a  few  spirals  which 
still  unwound  from  the  lake.  The  underground 
path  to  De  Chaumont's  manor  descended  by  ter 
races  of  steps  and  entered  blackness. 

A  rank  odor  of  earth  filled  it ;  and  I  never  passed 
that  way  without  hearkening  for  the  insect-like  song 
of  the  rattlesnake.  The  ground  was  slippery,  and 
thick  darkness  seemed  to  press  the  soul  out  of  the 
body.  Yet  I  liked  it;  for  when  we  reached  the 
staircase  of  rock  that  entered  the  house,  she  would 
vanish. 

And  so  it  was. 

She  did  say — "Good-night — and  good-morning." 

And  I  answered,  "Good-morning  and  good 
night." 

We  were  both  physically  exhausted.  My  head 
swarmed  as  with  sparkles,  and  a  thousand  emotions 
tore  me,  for  I  was  at  the  age  when  we  risk  all  on 
chances.  I  sat  alone  on  the  steps,  unmindful  of  that 
penetrating  chill  of  stone  which  increases  rather 
than  decreases,  the  longer  you  sit  upon  it,  and 
137 


128 


thought  of  all  that  had  been  said  by  my  new  friend 
at  the  camp-fire,  while  the  moon  went  lower  and 
lower,  the  potter  turned  his  wheel,  and  the  idiot 
slept. 

The  mixed  and  oblique  motives  of  human  nature 
—  the  boy's  will  —  worked  like  gigantic  passions. 

She  had  said  very  little  to  me  in  the  boat,  and  I 
had  said  very  little  to  her;  not  realizing  that  the 
camp  talk,  in  which  she  took  no  part,  separated  us 
in  a  new  way. 

Sitting  alone  on  the  steps  I  held  this  imaginary 
conversation  with  her. 

"I  am  going  to  France  I" 

"You,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,  I!" 

"How  are  you  going  ?" 

"I  don't  know  ;  but  I  am  going  !" 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans  did  not  mention  such  a 
thing." 

"Bother  the  Duke  of  Orleans  I" 

"When  are  you  going?" 

"Now!" 

"But  it  may  not  be  best  to  go  at  this  time." 

"It  is  always  best  to  go  where  you  are  !" 

"Monsieur,  do  not  throw  away  your  future  on  an 
unconsidered  move." 

"Madame,  I  will  throw  away  my  eternity  !" 

Then  I  went  back  through  the  tunnel  to  the  beach, 
stripped,  and  took  a  plunge  to  clear  my  head  and 
warm  my  blood,  rubbing  off  with  my  shirt. 

On  reaching  my  room  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to 


NDKRING  129 

make  a  bundle  of  everything  I  considered  necessary 
and  desirable.  There  was  no  reason  for  doing  this 
before  lying  down ;  but  with  an  easier  mind  I  closed 
my  eyes;  and  opened  them  to  find  sunset  shining 
through  the  windows,  and  Doctor  Chantry  keeping 
guard  in  an  arm-chair  at  my  side. 

"Nature  has  taken  her  revenge  on  you,  my  lad," 
said  he.  "And  now  I  am  going  to  take  mine." 

"I  have  slept  all  day!" 

"Renegades  who  roam  the  woods  all  night  must 
expect  to  sleep  all  day." 

"How  do  you  know  I  have  been  in  the  woods  all 
night?" 

"I  heard  you  slipping  up  the  tunnel  stairs  without 
any  shoes  on  at  daylight.  I  have  not  been  able  to 
sleep  two  nights  on  account  of  you." 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  to  bed  yourself,  my  dear 
master?" 

"Because  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  give  me  the 
slip  another  time.  I  am  responsible  for  you:  and 
you  will  have  me  on  your  back  when  you  go  prowl 
ing  abroad  again." 

"Again?"  I  questioned  innocently. 

"Yes,  again,  young  sir!  I  have  been  through 
your  luggage,  and  find  that  you  have  packed 
changes  of  clothing  and  things  necessary  and  unnec 
essary  to  a  journey, — even  books/* 

"I  hope  you  put  them  neatly  together"— 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.    I  scattered  them." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  bare  into  the  world?"  I 
laughed. 


130  I,  A.  Z  A  R  R  B 

"Lazarre,"  said  my  master,  "you  were  a  good  lad, 
studious  and  zealous  beyond  anything  I  ever  saw." 

"And  now  I  am  bad  and  lazy." 

"You  have  dropped  your  books  and  taken  to  wild 
ways." 

"There  is  one  thing,  dear  master,  I  haven't  done : 
I  haven't  written  poetry." 

He  blinked  and  smiled,  and  felt  in  his  breast 
pocket,  but  thought  better  of  it,  and  forebore  to  draw 
the  paper  out.  There  was  no  escaping  his  tenacious 
grip.  He  sat  by  and  exercised  me  in  Latin  declen 
sions  while  I  dressed.  We  had  our  supper  together. 
I  saw  no  member  of  the  household  except  the  men, 
Pierre  and  Jean.  Doctor  Chantry  ordered  a  mat 
tress  put  in  my  room  and  returned  there  with  me. 

We  talked  long  on  the  approaching  departure  of 
the  count  and  Madame  de  Ferrier.  He  told  me  the 
latest  details  of  preparation,  and  tremulously  ex 
plained  how  he  must  feel  the  loss  of  his  sister. 

"I  have  nothing  left  but  you,  Lazarre." 

"My  dear  master/'  I  said,  patting  one  of  his  shriv 
eled  hands  between  mine,  "I  am  going  to  be  open 
with  you." 

I  sat  on  the  side  of  my  bed  facing  his  arm-chair, 
and  the  dressing-glass  reflected  his  bald  head  and 
my  young  head  drawn  near  together. 

"Did  you  ever  feel  as  if  you  were  a  prince  ?" 

Doctor  Chantry  wagged  a  pathetic  negative. 

"Haven't  you  ever  been  ready  to  dare  anything 
and  everything,  because  something  in  you  said — I 
must!" 


W  A.NDKRINO  131 

Again  Doctor  Chantry  wagged  a  negative. 

"Now  I  have  to  break  bounds — I  have  to  leave 
the  manor  and  try  my  fortune!  I  can't  wait  for 
times  and  seasons — to  be  certain  of  this — to  be  cer 
tain  of  that! — I  am  going  to  leave  the  house  to 
night — and  I  am  going  to  France !" 

"My  God!"  cried  Doctor  Chantry,  springing  up. 
"He  is  going  to  France! — Rouse  the  servants! — 
Call  De  Chaumont!"  He  struck  his  gouty  foot 
against  the  chair  and  sat  down  nursing  it  in  both 
hands.  I  restrained  him  and  added  my  sympathy 
to  his  groans. 

"Have  you  as  much  as  a  Spanish  real  of  your 
own,  my  lad  ?"  he  catechised  me,  when  the  foot  was 
easy. 

I  acknowledged  that  I  had  not. 

"It  costs  dear  to  travel  about  the  world.  It  is  not 
like  coming  down  the  trail  from  St.  Regis  to  Lake 
George.  How  are  you  to  travel  without  money  ?" 

I  laughed  at  the  very  uncertainty,  and  answered 
that  money  would  be  found. 

"Found!  It  isn't  found,  I  tell  you!  It  is  inher 
ited  by  the  idle,  or  gathered  by  the  unscrupulous, 
or  sweated  and  toiled  for!  It  costs  days  and  years, 
and  comes  in  drops.  You  might  as  well  expect  to 
find  a  kingdom,  lad !" 

"Maybe  I  shall  find  a  kingdom,  master !" 

"Oh,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  young!"  sighed 
Doctor  Chantry. 

I  felt  it  myself,  and  hugged  my  youth. 


133  LAZARRK 

"Do  yon  know  how  to  reach  the  sea -port?"  he 
continued. 

I  said  anybody  could  follow  the  Hudson  to  New 
York. 

"You're  bitten,  my  poor  lad !  It's  plain  what  ails 
you.  You  might  as  well  try  to  swim  the  Atlantic. 
De  Chaumont  intends  her  for  himself.  And  in  the 
unjust  distribution  of  this  world,  your  rival  has  the 
power  and  you  have  the  feelings.  Stay  where  you 
are.  You'll  never  forget  it,  but  it  will  hurt  less  as 
years  go  by." 

"Master,"  I  said  to  him,  "good  sense  is  on  your 
side.  But  if  I  knew  I  should  perish,  I  would  have 
to  go!" 

And  I  added  from  fullness  of  conviction — 

"I  would  rather  undertake  to  do  something,  and 
perish,  than  live  a  thousand  years  as  I  am." 

Doctor  Chantry  struck  the  chair  arm  with  his 
clenched  fist. 

"My  lad,  so  would  I — so  would  I ! — I  wish  I  had 
been  dowered  with  your  spirit! — I'm  going  with 
you !" 

As  soon  as  he  had  made  this  embarrassing  reso 
lution  my  master  blew  his  nose  and  set  his  British 
jaws  firmly  together.  I  felt  my  own  jaw  drop. 

"Have  you  as  much  as  a  Spanish  real  of  your 
own?"  I  quoted. 

'That  I  have,  young  sir,  and  some  American 
uotes,  such  as  they  are,  and  good  English  pounds, 
beside." 


NDKRINQ  133 

"And  do  you  know  how  to  reach  the  sea 
port?" 

"Since  I  came  that  way  I  can  return  that  way. 
You  have  youth,  my  lad,  but  I  have  brains  and  expe 
rience.'* 

"It's  plain  what  ails  you,  Doctor  Chantry.  And 
you  might  as  well  try  to  swim  the  Atlantic." 

My  poor  master  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast, 
and  I  was  ashamed  of  baiting  him  and  began  to  ar 
gue  tenderly.  I  told  him  he  could  not  bear  hard 
ships;  he  was  used  to  the  soft  life  in  De  Chaumont's 
house;  while  my  flesh  had  been  made  iron  in  the 
wilderness.  I  intended  to  take  a  boat  from  those 
hidden  at  our  summer  camp,  to  reach  the  head  of 
Lake  George.  But  from  that  point  to  the  Hudson 
river — where  the  town  of  Luzerne  now  stands — it 
was  necessary  to  follow  a  trail.  I  could  carry  the 
light  canoe  over  the  trail,  but  he  could  not  even 
walk  it. 

The  more  I  reasoned  with  him  the  more  obstinate 
he  became.  There  was  a  wonderful  spring  called 
Saratoga,  which  he  had  visited  with  De  Chaumont 
a  few  years  before  as  they  came  into  the  wilder 
ness;  he  was  convinced  that  the  water  would  set 
him  on  foot  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

"It  is  twenty-nine  miles  above  Albany.  We  could 
soon  reach  it,"  he  urged. 

"I  have  heard  of  it,"  I  answered.  "Skenedonk 
has  been  there.  But  he  says  you  leave  the  river  and 
go  into  the  woods." 

"I  know  the  way,"  he  testily  insisted.    "And  there 


134  Iv  A  %  A  R  R  H 

used  to  be  near  the  river  a  man  who  kept  horses  and 
carried  visitors  to  the  spring." 

The  spirit  of  reckless  adventure,  breaking  through 
years  of  extreme  prudence,  outran  youth. 

"What  will  you  do  in  France  ?"  I  put  to  him.  He 
knew  no  more  than  I  what  I  should  do. 

And  there  was  Count  de  Chaumont  to  be  consid 
ered.  How  would  he  regard  such  a  leave-tak 
ing? 

Doctor  Chantry  was  as  insensible  to  De  Chau 
mont  as  I  myself.  Still  he  agreed  to  write  a  note 
to  his  protector  while  I  prepared  my  quill  to  write 
one  to  Madame  de  Ferrier.  With  the  spirit  of  the 
true  parasite  he  laid  all  the  blame  on  me,  and  said 
he  was  constrained  by  duty  to  follow  and  watch 
over  me  since  it  was  impossible  to  curb  a  nature 
like  mine.  And  he  left  a  loop-hole  open  for  a 
future  return  to  De  Chaumont's  easy  service,  when 
the  hardships  which  he  willingly  faced  brought  him 
his  reward. 

This  paper  he  brazenly  showed  me  while  I  was 
struggling  to  beg  Madame  de  Ferrier's  pardon,  and 
to  let  her  know  that  I  aimed  at  something  definite 
whether  I  ever  reached  port  or  not. 

I  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  he  would  proba 
bly  turn  back  at  Saratoga.  We  descended  together 
to  his  room  and  brought  away  the  things  he  needed. 
In  bulk  they  were  twice  as  large  as  the  load  I  had 
made  for  myself.  He  also  wrote  out  strict  orders  to 
Pierre  to  seal  up  his  room  until  his  return.  The  ina^ 


NDKRINQ  J35 

bility  of  an  old  man  to  tear  himself  from  his  accus 
tomed  environment  cheered  my  heart. 

We  then  went  back  to  bed,  and  like  the  two  bad 
boys  we  were,  slept  prepared  for  flight. 


II 


44T^HIS  is  fine!"  said  Doctor  Chantry,  when 
we  descended  from  the  rough  stage  which 
had  brought  us  across  a  corduroy  trail,  and 
found  ourselves  at  the  entrance  of  a  spacious 
wooden  tavern.  "When  I  passed  Saratoga  before 
there  were  only  three  log  houses,  and  the  inn  had 
two  rooms  below  and  one  above.  It  was  lighted  by 
pine  torches  stuck  in  the  chinks  of  the  wall — and  see 
how  candles  shine  through  these  windows  I" 

The  tavern  stood  in  a  cleared  place  with  miles  of 
forest  around  it,  and  a  marsh  stretching  near  by. 
Dusk  could  not  prevent  our  seeing  a  few  log  hab 
itations,  one  of  them  decorated  with  a  merchant's 
sign.  We  entered  among  swarming  crowds,  a  little 
world  dropped  into  the  backwoods.  This  was  more 
surprising  because  we  had  just  left  behind  us  a  sense 
of  wild  things  gathering  to  their  night  haunts,  and 
low  savage  cries,  and  visions  of  moose  and  deer 
through  far-off  arches. 

A  man  who  appeared  to  be  the  host  met  us,  his 
sprightly  interest  in  our  welfare  being  tempered  by 
the  consciousness  of  having  many  guests ;  and  told 
its  the  house  was  full,  but  he  would  do  what  he  could 
for  us. 

"Why  is  the  house  full?"  fretted  Doctor  Chantry, 
136 


NDKRINQ  137 

"What  right  have  you,  my  dear  sir,  to  crowd  your 
house  and  so  insure  our  discomfort  ?" 

"None  at  all,  sir,"  answered  the  host  good  na- 
turedly.  "If  you  think  you  can  do  better,  try  for 
lodgings  at  the  store-keeper's." 

"The  store-keeper's!'*  Doctor  Chantry's  hys 
terical  cry  turned  some  attention  to  us.  "I  shall  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  demand  the  best  you  have, 


sir." 


"The  best  I  can  give  you,"  amended  our  host. 
"You  see  we  are  very  full  of  politicians  from  Wash 
ington.  They  crowd  to  the  spring." 

My  master  turned  his  nose  like  the  inflamed  horn 
of  a  unicorn  against  the  politicians  from  Washing 
ton,  and  trotted  to  the  fireplace  where  blazing  knots 
cheered  a  great  tap-room  set  with  many  tables  and 
benches. 

And  there  rested  Skenedonk  in  silent  gravity, 
toasting  his  moccasins.  The  Iroquois  had  long  made 
Saratoga  a  gathering  place,  but  I  thought  of  this 
Oneida  as  abiding  in  St.  Regis  village;  for  our 
people  did  not  come  to  the  summer  hunting  in 
May. 

Forgetting  that  I  was  a  runaway  I  met  him  heart 
ily,  and  the  fawn  eyes  in  his  bald  head  beamed  their 
accustomed  luster  upon  me.  I  asked  him  where 
my  father  and  mother  and  the  rest  of  the  tribe  were, 
and  he  said  they  had  not  left  St.  Regis. 

"And  why  are  you  so  early  ?"  I  inquired. 

He  had  been  at  Montreal,  and  had  undertaken  to 
guide  a  Frenchman  as  far  as  Saratoga.  It  is  ndfc 


138  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

easy  to  surprise  an  Indian.  But  I  wondered  that 
Skenedonk  accepted  my  presence  without  a  question, 
quite  as  if  he  had  himself  made  the  appointment. 

However,  the  sights  to  be  seen  put  him  out  of  my 
head.  Besides  the  tap-room  crowded  with  men  there 
was  a  parlor  in  which  women  of  fashion  walked 
about,  contrasting  with  the  place.  They  had  all  been 
to  a  spring  to  drink  water ;  for  only  one  spring  was 
greatly  used  then ;  and  they  talked  about  the  medici 
nal  effects.  Some  men  left  the  stronger  waters, 
which  could  be  had  at  a  glittering  portcullised  bar 
opposite  the  fireplace  in  the  tap-room,  to  chat  with 
these  short-waisted  beauties.  I  saw  one  stately 
creature  in  a  white  silk  ball  costume,  his  stockings 
splashed  to  the  knees  with  mud  from  the  corduroy 
road. 

But  the  person  who  distinguished  himself  from 
everybody  else  by  some  nameless  attraction,  was  a 
man  perhaps  forty  years  old,  who  sat  in  a  high- 
backed  settle  at  a  table  near  the  fire.  He  was  erect 
and  thin  as  a  lath,  long  faced,  square  browed  and 
pale.  His  sandy  hair  stood  up  like  the  bristles  of  a 
brush.  Carefully  dressed,  with  a  sword  at  his  side — 
as  many  of  the  other  men  had — he  filled  my  idea  of 
a  soldier ;  and  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  his  friends 
sitting  opposite  call  him  General  Jackson. 

An  inkstand,  a  quill  and  some  paper  were  placed 
before  him,  but  he  pushed  them  aside  with  his  glass 
of  toddy  to  lift  one  long  fore-finger  and  emphasize 
his  talk.  He  had  a  resonant,  impressive  voice,  with 
a  manner  gentle  and  persuasive,  like  a  woman's :  and 


tic  pushed  them  aside  with  his  glass  oi  toddy  to  lilt  one 
long  fore-finger  and  emphasize  hit  talk 


NDERING  J39 

he  was  speaking  of  Aaron  Burr,  the  man  whose  duel 
had  made  such  a  noise  in  the  newspapers. 

"I  disagree  with  you,  Mr.  Campbell.  You  are 
prejudiced  against  Mr.  Burr  on  account  of  his  late 
unfortunate  affair.  Even  in  that  case  I  maintain 
every  man  has  a  right  to  honor  and  satisfaction. 
But  he  loves  the  Spanish  on  our  southwestern  bor 
ders  no  better  than  I  do, — and  you  know  how  I  love 
the  Spanish !" 

The  ether  man  laughed,  lounging  against  the 
table. 

"You  can't  believe  anything  ill  of  Aaron  Burr, 
General." 

I  might  have  given  attention  to  what  they  were 
saying,  since  here  were  men  from  Washington,  the 
very  fountain  of  government,  if  Doctor  Chantry 
had  not  made  me  uneasy.  He  chose  the  table  at 
which  they  were  sitting  and  placed  himself  in  the 
seat  nearest  the  fire,  with  the  utmost  nicety  about 
his  own  comfort.  He  wiped  his  horn  spectacles, 
and  produced  his  own  ink  and  quill  and  memor 
andum  from  a  breast  pocket.  I  had  begged  the 
doctor  to  keep  strict  account  between  us,  that  I 
might  pay  back  from  my  pension  whatever  he  spent 
on  me,  and  with  fine  spider-like  characters  he  was 
proceeding  to  debit  me  with  the  stage  fare,  when 
another  quill  barred  his  entrance  to  his  ink-horn. 

He  took  off  his  spectacles  and  glared  pink-eyed  at 
the  genial  gentleman  with  sandy  upright  hair. 

"Sir !"•  he  cried,  "that  is  my  ink !" 

General  Jackson,  absorbed  in  talk,  did  not  notice 


140  Iv  A.  Z  A  R  R  H 

Doctor  Chantry,  who  half  arose  and  shouted  direct 
ly  at  his  ear, 

"Sir,  that  is  my  ink!" 

He  knocked  the  interloping  quill  in  the  direction 
of  its  owner. 

The  genial  sandy  gentleman  changed  countenance 
in  a  way  to  astonish  beholders. 

"Have  I  disputed  it,  sir?" 

"No,  sir,  but  you  have  dipped  into  it  withotit  ask 
ing  leave." 

"By  God,  sir,  what  is  a  fip'ny-bit's  worth  of  ink  ?" 

"But  it's  mine,  sir !" 

"I  see,  sir ;  you're  a  Yankee,  sir !" 

"I'm  not,  sir ;  I'm  English — the  finest  race  in  the 
world!" 

General  Jackson  looked  him  up  and  down  as  they 
rose  fronting  each  other,  and  filled  the  air  with  daz 
zling  words. 

"I  should  judge  so,  sir,  by  the  specimen  I  see 
before  me !" 

Doctor  Chantry  was  like  a  fighting-cock,  and  it 
was  plainly  his  age  which  kept  the  other  from 
striking  him.  He  was  beginning  our  journey  well 
but  I  felt  bound  to  intercept  whatever  fell  upon  him, 
and  stood  between  them.  The  other  men  at  the 
table  rose  with  General  Jackson. 

"Gentlemen,"  I  pleaded  with  the  best  words  I 
could  command  in  the  language,  "do  not  forget  your 
dignity,  and  disturb  the  peace  of  this  house  for  a 
bottle  of  ink!" 

The  quarrel  was  ridiculous,  and  the  Southerners 


w  A  N  r>  K  R  i  N  a          141 

laughed.  General  Jackson  himself  again  changed 
countenance,  and  gave  me,  I  do  not  know  why,  a 
smile  that  must  have  been  reflected  from  the  face 
of  a  woman  he  adored.  But  my  poor  master  showed 
the  bull-dog;  and  taking  him  by  the  arm  and  the 
collar  I  toddled  him  away  from  that  table  to  a  dark 
entry,  where  I  held  him  without  any  admonition 
save  a  sustained  grip.  He  became  like  a  child,  weep 
ing  and  trembling,  and  declaring  that  everybody  was 
in  league  against  him.  Argument  is  wasted  on  peo 
ple  having  such  infirmity  of  temper.  When  he  was 
well  cooled  I  put  him  in  an  arm-chair  by  a  fire  in  the 
ladies'  parlor,  and  he  was  soon  very  meek  and  tract 
able,  watching  the  creatures  he  so  admired. 

"You  must  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  you  have  your 
supper,"  I  said  to  him.  "The  journey  to  Saratoga 
has  been  a  hard  one  for  you.  But  Skenedonk  is 
here  fortunately,  and  he  can  take  you  home  again." 

My  master  looked  at  me  with  the  shrewishness  of 
an  elephant.  I  had  not  at  that  time  seen  an  ele 
phant.  When  I  did  see  one,  however,  the  shifting 
of  its  eyes  brought  back  the  memory  of  Doctor 
Chantry  when  I  had  him  at  bay  by  the  fire. 

"You  are  not  going  to  get  away  from  me,"  he 
responded.  "If  you  are  tired  of  it,  so  am  I.  Other 
wise,  we  proceed." 

"If  you  pick  quarrels  with  soldiers  and  duelists  at 
every  step,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"I  picked  no  quarrel.  It  is  my  luck.  Everyone 
is  against  me !"  He  hung  his  head  in  such  a  dejected 
manner  that  I  felt  ashamed  of  bringing  his  tempera- 


14.2  Iv  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

ment  to  account :  and  told  him  I  was  certain  no  harm 
would  come  of  it. 

"I  am  not  genial,"  Doctor  Chantry  owned;  "I 
wish  I  were.  Now  you  are  genial,  Lazarre.  People 
take  to  you.  You  attract  them.  But  whatever  I 
am,  you  are  obliged  to  have  my  company:  you  can 
not  get  along  without  me.  You  have  no  experi 
ence,  and  no  money.  I  have  experience, — and  a 
few  pounds: — not  enough  to  retire  into  the  coun 
try  upon,  in  England;  but  enough  to  buy  a  little 
food  for  the  present." 

I  thought  I  could  get  along  better  without  the 
experience  and  even  the  few  pounds,  than  with  him 
as  an  encumbrance ;  though  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  the  cruelty  of  telling  him  so.  For  there  is  in  me 
a  fatal  softness  which  no  man  can  have  and  over 
bear  others  in  this  world.  It  constrains  me  to  make 
the  other  man's  cause  my  own,  though  he  be  at  war 
with  my  own  interests. 

Therefore  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  Skenedonk,  also. 
The  Indian  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  watched 
me.  I  knew  he  thought  there  was  to  be  trouble  with 
the  gentleman  from  Washington,  and  I  went  to  him 
to  ease  his  mind. 

Skenedonk  had  nothing  to  say,  however,  and 
made  me  a  sign  to  follow  him.  As  we  passed 
through  the  tap-room,  General  Jackson  gave  me 
another  pleasant  look.  He  had  resumed  his  con 
versation  and  his  own  ink-bottle  as  if  he  had  never 
been  interrupted. 


WANDKRINQ  143 

The  Indian  led  me  upstairs  to  one  of  the  cham 
bers,  and  opened  the  door. 

In  the  room  was  Louis  Philippe,  and  when  we 
were  shut  alone  together,  he  embraced  me  and  kissed 
me  as  I  did  not  know  men  embraced  and  kissed. 

"Do  you  know  Skenedonk?"  I  exclaimed. 

"If  you  mean  the  Indian  who  brought  you  at  my 
order,  he  was  my  guide  from  Montreal." 

"But  he  was  not  with  you  at  the  potter's  camp." 

"Yes,  he  was  in  the  hut,  wrapped  in  his  blanket, 
and  after  you  drove  the  door  in  he  heard  all  that 
was  said.  Lazarre" — Louis  Philippe  took  my  face 
in  his  hands — "make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

We  sat  down,  and  I  told  him  without  being  ques 
tioned  what  I  was  going  to  do.  He  gravely  con 
sidered. 

"I  saw  you  enter  the  house,  and  had  a  suspicion 
of  your  undertaking.  It  is  the  worst  venture  you 
could  possibly  make  at  this  time.  We  will  begin 
with  my  family.  Any  belief  in  you  into  which  I  may 
have  been  betrayed  is  no  guaranty  of  Monsieur's 
belief.  You  understand,"  said  Louis  Philippe,  "that 
Monsieur  stands  next  to  the  throne  if  there  is  no 
dauphin,  or  an  idiot  dauphin  ?" 

I  said  I  understood. 

"Monsieur  is  not  a  bad  man.  But  Bellenger,  who 
took  charge  of  the  dauphin,  has  in  some  manner 
and  for  some  reason,  provided  himself  with  a  sub 
stitute,  and  he  utterly  denies  you.  Further :  suppos 
ing  that  you  are  the  heir  of  France,  restored  to  your 
family  and  proclaimed — of  what  use  is  it  to  present 


144  lv  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

yourself  before  the  French  people  now?  They  are 
besotted  with  this  Napoleon.  The  Empire  seems  to 
them  a  far  greater  thing  than  any  legitimate  mon 
archy.  Of  what  use,  do  I  say  ?  It  would  be  a  posi 
tive  danger  for  you  to  appear  in  France  at  this  time ! 
Napoleon  has  proscribed  every  Bourbon.  Any 
prince  caught  alive  in  France  will  be  put  to  death. 
Do  you  know  what  he  did  last  year  to  the  Duke 
d'Enghien?  He  sent  into  Germany  for  the  duke, 
who  had  never  harmed  him,  never  conspired  against 
him — had  done  nothing,  in  fact,  except  live  an  inno 
cent  life  away  from  the  seat  of  Napoleon's  power. 
The  duke  was  brought  to  Paris  under  guard  and 
put  in  the  dungeons  of  Vincennes.  He  demanded 
to  see  Bonaparte.  Bonaparte  would  not  see  him. 
He  was  tried  by  night,  his  grave  being  already  dug 
in  the  castle  ditch.  That  lovely  young  fellow — he 
was  scarcely  above  thirty — was  taken  out  to  the 
ditch  and  shot  like  a  dog!" 

I  stood  up  with  my  hands  clenched. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Louis  Philippe.  "There  is  no 
room  in  the  world  at  this  time  for  anybody  but  that 
jealous  monster." 

"He  shall  not  tie  me  here,"  I  said. 

"You  intend  to  go?" 

"I  intend  to  go." 

"This  Bonaparte,"  said  Louis  Philippe,  "has  his 
troubles.  His  brother  Jerome  has  married  an 
American  in  Baltimore.  A  fine  explosion  that  will 
make  when  it  reaches  his  ears.  Where  are  you 
going  to  land,  Lazarre?" 


WANDKRING  US 

I  said  that  must  depend  on  the  ship  I  took. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  land?" 

I  said  I  would  think  that  out  later. 

Then  the  spirit  being  upon  me,  I  burst  bounds 
and  told  him  impetuously  that  I  was  going  to  learn 
what  the  world  held  for  me.  Without  means,  with 
out  friends,  or  power  or  prospects,  or  certainty  of 
any  good  results  —  impudent  —  reckless  —  utterly 
rash — "I  am  going,"  I  cried,  "because  I  must  go!" 

"There  is  something  about  you  which  inspires 
love,  my  boy,"  said  Louis  Philippe;  and  I  heard 
him  with  astonishment.  "Perhaps  it  comes  from 
the  mother;  she  was  a  witcher  of  all  mankind." 

"I  cannot  understand  why  any  one  should  love  so 
ignorant  a  creature,  but  God  grant  there  be  others 
that  love  me,  too;  for  I  have  lived  a  life  stinted  of 
all  affection.  And,  indeed,  I  did  not  know  I  wanted 
it  until  last  year.  When  we  talked  late  the  other 
night,  and  you  told  me  the  history  of  all  my  family, 
the  cruelest  part  of  my  lot  seemed  the  separation 
from  those  that  belonged  to  me.  Separation  from 
what  is  our  own  ought  not  to  be  imposed  upon  us 
even  by  God  Himself!" 

"What!"  said  Louis  Philippe,  "is  he  following  a 
woman!" 

My  face  burned,  and  probably  went  white,  for  I 
felt  the  blood  go  back  on  my  heart.  He. took  my 
hand  and  stroked  it. 

"Don't  chain  yourself  behind  that  chariot.  Wait 
a  little  while  for  your  good  star  to  rise.  I  wish  I 
had  money.  I  wish  I  could  be  of  use  to  you  in 


146  L  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

France.  I  wish  I  stood  nearer  to  Monsieur,  for 
your  sake.  Every  one  must  love  this  bold  pure  face. 
It  bears  some  resemblance  to  Madame  Royal 
The  sister  of  the  dauphin  is  a  good  girl,  not  man> 
years  your  senior.  Much  dominated  by  her  uncles 
but  a  royal  duchess.  It  is  the  fashion  now  to  laugh 
at  chivalry.  You  are  the  most  foolish  example  of 
it  I  ever  saw!  It  is  like  seeing  a  knight  without 
horse,  armor,  or  purse,  set  out  to  win  an  equipment 
before  he  pursues  his  quest!  Yet  I  love  you  for 
it,  my  boy!" 

"It  would  be  well  for  me  if  I  had  more  friends 
like  you." 

"Why,  I  can  be  of  no  use!  I  cannot  go  back  to 
France  at  this  time,  and  if  I  could,  what  is  my  influ 
ence  there?  I  must  wander  around  in  foreign  parts, 
a  private  gentleman  eking  out  my  living  by  some 
kind  of  industry.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
the  fretful  old  fellow  you  have  with  you?" 

I  groaned  and  laughed. 

"Carry  him  on  my  back.  There  is  no  getting  rid 
of  him.  He  is  following  me  to  France.  He  is  my 
lesson-master." 

"How  will  you  support  him?" 

"He  is  supporting  me  at  present.  But  1  would 
rather  take  my  chances  alone." 

"You  have  another  follower,"  said  Louis  Phi 
lippe.  "Your  Indian  has  been  in  France,  and  after 
hearing  our  talk  at  the  camp,  he  foresaw  you  might 
be  moved  to  this  folly,  and  told  me  he  intended  to 
guide  you  there,  or  wherever  you  go!" 

"And  Skenedonk,  too!" 


WANDKRINQ  *47 

I  shook  with  laughter.  It  was  so  like  Skenedonk 
to  draw  his  conclusions  and  determine  on  the  next 
step. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  them?" 

'The  old  master  can  be  your  secretary,  and  as 
for  the  Indian,  you  can  take  him  for  your  ser 
vant." 

"A  secretary  and  a  servant,  for  an  outcast  with 
out  a  penny  to  his  pouch!" 

"You  see  the  powers  that  order  us  are  beginning 
well  with  you.  Starting  with  a  secretary  and  a 
servant,  you  may  end  with  a  full  household  and  a 
court!  I  ought  to  add  my  poor  item  of  tribute, 
and  this  I  can  do.  There  is  a  ship-master  taking 
cargo  this  month  in  New  York  bay,  who  is  a  de 
voted  royalist;  a  Breton  sailor.  For  a  letter  from 
me  he  will  carry  you  and  your  suite  to  the  other 
side  of  the  world;  but  you  will  have  to  land  in  his 
port." 

"And  what  will  the  charges  be?" 

"Nothing,  except  gratitude,  if  I  put  the  case  as 
strongly  to  him  as  I  intend  to  do.  God  knows  I 
may  be  casting  a  foul  lot  for  you.  His  ship  is 
staunch,  rigged  like  the  Italian  salt  ships.  But  it  is 
dirty  work  crossing  the  sea;  and  there  is  always 
danger  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  pirates.  Are 
you  determined?" 

I  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  and  said  I  was;  thank 
ing  him  for  all  his  goodness  to  one  who  had  so  little 
expectation  of  requiting  him.  The  sweet  heartiness 
of  an  older  man  so  far  beyond  myself  in  princely 


148  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

attainments  and  world  knowledge,  who  could  stoop 
to  such  a  raw  savage,  took  me  by  storm. 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  any  idea  who  the  idiot  was 
that  we  had  seen  in  Bellenger's  camp.  He  shook 
his  head,  replying  that  idiots  were  plentiful,  and  the 
people  who  had  them  were  sometimes  glad  to  get 
rid  of  them. 

"The  dauphin  clue  has  been  very  cleverly  man 
aged  by — Bellenger,  let  us  say,"  Louis  Philippe  re 
marked.  "If  you  had  not  appeared,  I  should  not 
now  believe  there  is  a  dauphin." 

I  wanted  to  tell  him  all  the  thoughts  tossing  in 
my  mind;  but  silence  is  sometimes  better  than  open 
speech.  Facing  adventure,  I  remembered  that  I 
had  never  known  the  want  of  food  for  any  length 
of  time  during  my  conscious  life.  And  I  had  a  sus 
picion  the  soft  life  at  De  Chaumont's  had  unstrung 
me  for  what  was  before  me.  But  it  lasted  scarce  a 
year,  and  I  was  built  for  hardship. 

He  turned  to  his  table  to  write  the  ship-master's 
letter.  Behold,  there  lay  a  book  I  knew  so  well 
that  I  exclaimed — 

"Where  did  you  get  my  missal?" 

"Your  missal,  Lazarre?    This  is  mine." 

I  turned  the  leaves,  and  looked  at  the  back.  It 
was  a  continuation  of  the  prayers  of  the  church. 
There  were  blank  leaves  for  the  inscribing  of  pray 
ers,  and  one  was  written  out  in  a  good  bold 
hand. 

"His  Majesty  Louis  XVI  composed  and  wrote 
that  prayer  himself,"  said  Louis  Philippe.  "The 


WANDKRINO  H9 

comfort-loving  priests  had  a  fashion  of  dividing 
the  missal  into  three  or  four  parts,  that  a  volume 
might  not  be  so  heavy  to  carry  about  in  their  pock 
ets.  This  is  the  second  volume.  It  was  picked  up 
in  the  Tuileries  after  that  palace  was  sacked." 

I  told  him  mine  must  be  the  preceding  volume, 
because  I  did  not  know  there  was  any  continuation. 
The  prayers  of  the  church  had  not  been  my 
study. 

"Where  did  you  get  yours,  Lazarre?" 

"Madame  de  Ferrier  gave  it  to  me.  When  I  saw 
it  I  remembered,  as  if  my  head  were  split  open  to 
show  the  picture,  that  my  mother  had  read  from 
that  very  book  to  me.  I  cannot  explain  it,  but  so 
it  was." 

"I  am  not  surprised  she  believes,  against  Bellen- 
ger's  evidence,  that  you  are  Louis  of  France." 

"I  will  bring  my  book  and  show  it  to  you." 

We  compared  the  volumes  after  supper,  and  one 
was  the  mate  of  the  other. 

The  inn  dining-room  had  one  long  table 
stretched  down  its  entire  length,  heaped  with  wild 
meats  and  honey  and  pastries  and  fish  in  abun 
dance.  General  Jackson  sat  at  one  end,  and  at  the 
other  sat  the  landlord,  explaining  to  all  his  guests 
what  each  dish  was,  and  urging  good  appetite.  I 
sat  by  Louis  Philippe,  whose  quality  was  known 
only  to  myself,  with  Doctor  Chantry  on  the  other 
side  fretting  for  the  attendance  to  which  Jean  had 
used  him. 


150  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  B 

My  master  was  so  tired  that  I  put  him  ?arly  to 
bed ;  and  then  sat  talking  nearly  all  night  with  the 
gracious  gentleman  to  whom  I  felt  bound  by  grati 
tude  and  by  blood. 


Ill 


DIEPPE,  high  and  glaring  white  above  the 
water,  will  always  symbolize  to  me  the  gate 
of  France.  The  nobility  of  that  view  remained  in 
my  thoughts  when  half  the  distance  to  Paris  was 
traversed. 

I  could  shut  my  eyes  and  see  it  as  I  lay  on  the 
straw  in  a  post-house  stable.  A  square  hole  in  the 
front  of  the  grenier  gave  upon  the  landscape.  Even 
respectable  houses  in  that  part  of  the  country  were 
then  built  with  few  or  no  windows;  but  delicious 
masses  of  grayness  they  were,  roofed  with  thick 
and  overhanging  thatch. 

"The  stables  of  France  are  nothing  but  covered 
dunghills,"  Doctor  Chantry  grumbled;  so  when  I 
crept  with  the  Indian  to  lodgings  over  the  cattle, 
one  of  the  beds  in  the  house  was  hired  for  the 
gouty  master.  Even  at  inns  there  were  two  or 
three  beds  in  a  room  where  they  set  us  to  dine. 

"An  English  inn-keeper  would  throw  their  furni 
ture  into  the  fire!"  he  cried  in  a  language  fortu 
nately  not  understood. 

"But  we  have  two  good  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  another  for  Skenedonk,"  I  sometimes 
remonstrated  with  him,  "at  three  shillings  and  six 
pence  a  day,  in  your  money." 

"You  would  not  see  any  man,  let  his  rank  be 


152  L,  A  Z  A.  R  R  B 

what  it  may/*  Doctor  Chantry  retorted,  "dining  in 
his  bedroom,  in  England.  And  look  at  these  walls ! — 
papered  with  two  or  three  kinds  of  paper,  the  bare 
spots  hung  with  tapestry  moth-eaten  and  filled 
with  spiders!  And  what  have  we  for  table? — a 
board  laid  on  cross-bars!  And  the  oaken  chairs 
are  rush-bottomed,  and  so  straight  the  backs  are 
a  persecution!  The  door  hinges  creak  in  these 
inns,  the  wind  blows  through — " 

So  his  complaints  went  on,  for  there  never  was  a 
man  who  got  so  much  out  of  small  miseries.  Sken- 
edonk  and  I  must  have  failed  to  see  all  in  our  trav 
els  that  he  put  before  us.  For  we  were  full  of 
enjoyment  and  wonder:  at  the  country  people, 
wooden  shod,  the  women's  caps  and  long  cloaks; 
at  the  quiet  fair  roads  which  multiplied  themselves 
until  we  often  paused  enchanted  in  a  fairy  world 
of  sameness;  at  market-towns,  where  fountains  in 
the  squares  were  often  older  than  America,  the 
country  out  of  which  we  arrived. 

Skenedonk  heard  without  shifting  a  muscle  all 
Doctor  Chantry's  grievances;  and  I  told  him  we 
ought  to  cherish  them,  for  they  were  views  of  life 
we  could  not  take  ourselves.  Few  people  are  made 
so  delicately  that  they  lose  color  and  rail  at  the 
sight  of  raw  tripe  brought  in  by  a  proud  hostess 
to  show  her  resources  for  dinner;  or  at  a  chicken 
coming  upon  the  table  with  its  head  tucked  beneath 
its  wing. 

"We  are    fed  with  poulet,  poulet,  nothing  but 


W  A  N  D  E  R  I  N  G  153 

poulet,"  said  Doctor  Chantry,  "until  the  poulew 
themselves  are  ashamed  to  look  us  in  the  face!" 

We  fared  well,  indeed,  and  the  wine  was  good, 
and  my  master  said  he  must  sustain  himself  on  it 
though  it  proved  his  death.  He  could  not  march 
as  Skenedonk  and  I  regularly  marched.  We  hired 
a  cart  to  lift  him  and  our  knapsacks  from  village  to 
village,  with  a  driver  who  knew  the  roa<>  to  Paris. 
When  the  distances  were  long  we  sometimes 
mounted  beside  him.  I  noticed  that  the  soil  of  this 
country  had  not  the  chalk  look  of  other  lands  which 
I  afterwards  saw  to  the  east  and  north;  but  Napo 
leon  was  already  making  good  the  ancient  thju 
oughfares. 

When  my  master  was  on  shipboard  he  enjoyed 
the  sea  even  less  than  the  free  air  of  these  broad 
stretches;  for  while  he  could  cast  an  eye  about 
and  approve  of  something  under  the  sky — perhaps 
a  church  steeple,  or  the  color  of  a  thatch  which 
filled  me  with  joy — he  could  not  approve  of  any 
thing  aboard  a  ship.  Indeed,  it  was  pity  to  have  no 
delight  in  cleaving  the  water,  and  in  the  far-off 
spouting  of  whales,  to  say  nothing  of  a  living  world 
that  rides  in  undulations.  For  my  part,  I  loved 
even  the  creaking  of  a  ship,  and  the  uncertainty  of 
ever  coming  to  port,  and  the  anxiety  lest  a  black 
flag  should  show  above  every  sail  we  passed.  The 
slow  progress  of  man  from  point  to  point  in  his 
experience,  while  it  sometimes  enrages,  on  the 
whole  interests  me ;  and  the  monotony  of  a  voyage 
has  a  sweetness  like  the  monotony  of  daily  breacL 


154  I/  A  Z  A  R  R  E: 

I  looked  out  of  the  grenier  window  upon  the  high 
road,  and  upon  the  June  sun  in  the  act  of  setting; 
for  we  had  supped  and  gone  early  to  rest  after  a 
hard  day.  Post  horses  were  stamping  underneath, 
all  ready  for  some  noble  count  who  intended  to 
make  another  stage  of  his  journey  before  night 
fall. 

Small  obtrusive  cares,  such  as  the  desire  that 
my  shoes  should  last  well  into  Paris,  mingled 
with  joy  in  the  smell  of  the  earth  at  sunset,  and  the 
looking  forward  to  seeing  Madame  de  Ferrier 
again.  I  wrapped  myself  every  night  in  the  con 
viction  that  I  should  see  her,  and  more  freely  than 
I  had  ever  seen  her  in  America. 

There  was  a  noise  of  horses  galloping,  and  the 
expected  noble  count  arrived;  being  no  other  than 
De  Chaumont  with  his  post  coaches.  He  stepped 
out  of  the  first,  and  Ernestine  stepped  out  of  the 
second,  carrying  Paul.  She  took  him  to  his  mother. 
The  door  flew  open,  and  the  woman  I  adored  re 
ceived  her  child  and  walked  back  and  forth  with 
him.  Annabel  leaned  out  while  the  horses  were 
changed.  I  saw  Miss  Chantry,  and  my  heart  mis 
gave  me,  remembering  her  brother's  prolonged 
lament  at  separation  from  her. 

He  was,  I  trusted,  already  shut  into  one  of  those 
public  beds  which  are  like  cupboards;  for  the  day 
had  begun  for  us  at  three  of  the  morning.  But  if 
he  chose  to  show  himself,  and  fall  upon  De  Chau 
mont  for  luxurious  conveyance  to  Paris,  I  was 
determined  that  Skenedonk  and  I  should  not  ap- 


W  A  N  E)  K  R  I  K  O  155 

pear.  I  wronged  my  poor  master,  who  told  me 
afterwards  he  watched  through  a  crack  of  the  cup 
board  bed  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth. 

The  pause  was  a  very  short  one,  for  horses  are 
soon  changed.  Madame  de  Ferrier  threw  a  search 
ing  eye  over  the  landscape.  It  was  a  mercy  she 
did  not  see  the  hole  in  the  grenier,  through  which 
I  devoured  her,  daring  for  the  first  time  to  call  her 
secretly — Eagle — the  name  that  De  Chaumont  used 
with  common  freedom !  Now  how  strange  is  this — 
that  one  woman  should  be  to  a  man  the  sum  of 
things!  And  what  was  her  charm  I  could  not  tell, 
for  I  began  to  understand  there  were  many  beau 
tiful  women  in  the  world,  of  all  favors,  and  shapely 
perhaps  as  the  one  of  my  love.  Only  her  I  found 
drawing  the  soul  out  of  my  body;  and  none  of  the 
others  did  more  than  please  the  eye  like  pictures. 

The  carriages  were  gone  with  the  sun,  and  it  was 
no  wonder  all  fell  gray  over  the  world. 

De  Chaumont  had  sailed  behind  us,  and  he  would 
be  in  Paris  long  before  us. 

I  had  first  felt  some  uneasiness,  and  dread  of 
being  arrested  on  our  journey;  though  our  Breton 
captain — who  was  a  man  of  gold  that  I  would  travel 
far  to  see  this  day,  if  I  could,  even  beneath  the  At 
lantic,  where  he  and  his  ship  now  float — obtained 
for  us  at  Dieppe,  on  his  own  pledge,  a  kind  of  sub 
stitute  for  passports.  We  were  a  marked  party,  by 
reason  of  the  doctor's  lameness  and  Skenedonk's 
appearance.  The  Oneida,  during  his  former  so 
journ  in  France,  had  been  encouraged  to  preserve 


156  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  I£ 

the  novelty  of  his  Indian  dress.  As  I  had  nothing 
to  give  him  in  its  place  it  did  not  become  me  to  find 
fault.  And  he  would  have  been  more  conspicuous 
with  a  cocked  hat  on  his  bare  red  scalp,  and  knee 
breeches  instead  of  buckskins.  Peasants  ran  out 
to  look  at  him,  and  in  return  we  looked  at  them  with 
a  good  will. 

We  reached  the  very  barriers  of  Paris,  however, 
without  falling  into  trouble.  And  in  the  streets 
were  so  many  men  of  so  many  nations  that  Skene- 
donk's  attire  seemed  no  more  bizarre  than  the  tur 
bans  of  the  east  or  the  white  burnous  of  the  Arab. 

It  was  here  that  Skenedonk  took  his  role  as 
guide,  and  stalked  through  narrow  crooked  streets, 
which  by  comparison  made  New  York,  my  first 
experience  of  a  city,  appear  a  plain  and  open  vil 
lage. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  know  anything  about  Paris. 
Some  spots  in  the  mystic  labyrinth  stand  out  to 
memory,  such  as  that  open  space  where  the  guillo 
tine  had  done  its  work,  the  site  of  the  Bastille,  and 
a  long  street  leading  from  the  place  of  the  Bastille, 
parallel  with  the  river;  and  this  I  have  good  reason 
to  remember.  It  is  called  Rue  St.  Antoine.  I 
learned  well,  also,  a  certain  prison,  and  a  part  of  the 
ancient  city  called  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  One 
who  can  strike  obscure  trails  in  the  wilderness  of 
nature,  may  blunt  his  fine  instincts  on  the  wilder 
ness  of  man. 

This  did  not  befall  the  Indian.  He  took  a  bee  line 
upon  his  old  tracks,  and  when  the  place  was  sighted 


NDKRING  *57 

we  threaded  what  seemed  to  be  a  rivulet  between 
cliffs,  for  a  moist  depressed  street-center  kept  us 
straddling  something  like  a  gutter,  while  with  out* 
stretched  hands  we  could  brace  the  opposite  walls. 

We  entered  a  small  court  where  a  gruff  man, 
called  a  concierge,  having  a  dirty  kerchief  around 
his  head,  received  us  doubtfully.  He  was  not  the 
concierge  of  Skenedonk's  day.  We  showed  him 
coin;  and  Doctor  Chantry  sat  down  in  his  chair  and 
looked  at  him  with  such  contempt  that  his  respect 
increased. 

The  house  was  clean,  and  all  the  stairs  we 
climbed  to  the  roof  were  well  scoured.  From  the 
mansard  there  was  a  beautiful  view  of  Paris,  with 
forest  growth  drawing  close  to  the  heart  of  the 
city.  For  on  that  side  of  the  world  men  dare  not 
murder  trees,  but  are  obliged  to  respect  and  cherish 
them. 

My  poor  master  stretched  himself  on  a  bed  by  the 
stooping  wall,  and  in  disgust  of  life  and  great  pain 
of  feet,  begged  us  to  order  a  pan  of  charcoal  and 
let  him  die  the  true  Parisian  death  when  that  is  not 
met  on  the  scaffold.  Skenedonk  said  to  me  in  Iro- 
quois  that  Doctor  Chantry  was  a  sick  old  woman 
who  ought  to  be  hidden  some  place  to  die,  and  it 
was  his  opinion  that  the  blessing  of  the  church 
would  absolve  us.  We  could  then  make  use  of  the 
pouch  of  coin  to  carry  on  my  plans. 

My  plans  were  more  ridiculous  than  Skenedonk's. 
His  at  least  took  sober  shape,  while  mine  were  still 
the  wild  emotions  of  a  young  man's  mind.  Many 


i$8  t,  A.  Z,  A  R  R  H; 

an  hour  I  had  spent  on  the  ship,  watching  the  foam 
speed  past  her  side,  trying  to  foresee  my  course 
like  hers  in  a  trackless  world.  But  it  seemed  I 
must  wait  alertly  for  what  destiny  was  making 
mine. 

We  paid  for  our  lodgings,  three  commodious 
rooms,  though  in  the  mansard ;  my  secretary  drag 
ging  himself  to  sit  erect  with  groans  and  record  the 
increasing  debt  of  myself  and  my  servant. 

"Come,  Skenedonk,"  I  then  said.  "Let  us  go 
down  to  the  earth  and  buy  something  that  Doctor 
Chantry  can  eat." 

That  benevolent  Indian  was  quite  as  ready  to 
go  to  market  as  to  abate  human  nuisances.  And 
Doctor  Chantry  said  he  could  almost  see  English 
beef  and  ale  across  the  channel;  but  translated  into 
French  they  would,  of  course,  be  nothing  but  poulet 
and  sour  wine.  I  pillowed  his  feet  with  a  bag  of 
down  which  he  had  kicked  off  his  bed,  and  Skene 
donk  and  I  lingered  along  the  paving  as  we  had 
many  a  time  lingered  through  the  woods.  There 
were  book  stalls  a  few  feet  square  where  a  man 
seemed  smothered  in  his  own  volumes;  and  victual 
shops  where  you  could  almost  feed  yourself  for 
two  or  three  sous;  and  people  sitting  outdoors 
drinking  wine,  as  if  at  a  general  festival.  I  thought 
Paris  had  comfort  and  prosperity — with  hereditary 
kings  overthrown  and  an  upstart  in  their  place. 
Yet  the  streets  were  dirty,  with  a  smell  of  ancient- 
ness  that  sickened  me. 

We  got  a  loaf  of  bread  as  long  as  a  staff,  a  pat 


W  A.  N  D  K  R  I  N  O  159 

of  butter  in  a  leaf,  and  a  bottle  of  wine.  My  ser 
vant,  though  unused  to  squaw  labor,  took  on  him 
self  the  porterage  of  our  goods,  and  I  pushed  from 
street  to  street,  keenly  pleased  with  the  novelty, 
which  held  somewhere  in  its  volatile  ether  the  per 
son  of  Madame  de  Ferrier. 

Skenedonk  blazed  our  track  with  his  observant 
eye,  and  we  told  ourselves  we  were  searching  for 
Doctor  Chantry's  beef.  Being  the  unburdened 
hunter  I  undertook  to  scan  cross  places,  and  so 
came  unexpectedly  upon  the  Rue  St.  Antoine,  as 
a  man  told  me  it  was  called,  and  a  great  hurrahing 
that  filled  the  mouths  of  a  crowd  blocking  the  thor 
oughfare. 

"Long  live  the  emperor!"  they  shouted. 

The  man  who  told  me  the  name  of  the  street,  a 
baker  all  in  white,  with  his  tray  upon  his  head, 
objected  contemptuously. 

"The  emperor  is  not  in  Paris:  he  is  in  Bou 
logne." 

"You  never  know  where  he  is — he  is  here — 
there — everywhere!"  declared  another  workman, 
in  a  long  dark  garment  like  a  hunting-shirt  on  the 
outside  of  his  small  clothes. 

"Long  live  the  emperor! — long  live  the  em 
peror!" 

I  pushed  forward  as  two  or  three  heavy  coaches 
checked  their  headlong  speed,  and  officers  parted 
the  crowd. 

"There  he  is!"  admitted  the  baker  behind  me. 
Something  struck  me  in  the  side,  and  there  was 


160  L  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

Bellenger  the  potter,  a  man  I  thought  beyond  the 
seas  in  America.  His  head  as  I  saw  it  that  moment 
put  the  emperor's  head  out  of  my  mind.  He  had 
a  knife,  and  though  he  had  used  the  handle,  I  fool 
ishly  caught  it  and  took  it  from  him.  With  all  his 
strength  he  then  pushed  me  so  that  I  staggered 
against  the  wheel  of  a  coach. 

"Assassin!"  he  screamed;  and  then  Paris  fell 
around  my  ears. 

If  anybody  had  seen  his  act  nobody  refrained 
from  joining  in  the  cry. 

"Assassin!  Assassin!  To  the  lamp  post  with 
him!" 

I  stood  stupefied  and  astonished  as  an  owl  blink 
ing  in  the  sunshine,  and  two  guards  held  my  collar. 
The  coaches  lashed  away,  carrying  the  man  of  des 
tiny — as  I  have  since  been  told  he  called  himself — 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  leaving  the  victim  of  destiny 
to  be  bayed  at  by  that  many-headed  dog,  the  mon 
grel  populace  of  Paris. 


IV 


THE  idiot  boy  somewhere  upon  the  hills  of 
Lake  George,  always  in  a  world  of  fog  which 
could  not  be  discovered  again,  had  often  come 
to  my  mind  during  my  journeys,  like  a  self 
that  I  had  shed  and  left  behind.  But  Bellenger 
was  a  cipher.  I  forgot  him  even  at  the  campfire. 
Now  here  was  this  poor  crazy  potter  on  my  track 
with  vindictive  intelligence,  the  day  I  set  foot  in 
Paris.  Time  was  not  granted  even  to  set  the  lodg 
ing  in  order.  He  must  have  crossed  the  ocean  with 
as  good  speed  as  Doctor  Chantry  and  Skenedonk  and 
I.  He  may  have  spied  upon  us  from  the  port, 
through  the  barriers,  and  even  to  our  mansard.  At 
any  rate  he  had  found  me  in  a  crowd,  and  made  use 
of  me  to  my  downfall:  and  I  could  have  knocked 
my  stupid  head  on  the  curb  as  I  was  haled  away. 

One  glimpse  of  Skenedonk  I  caught  while  we 
marched  along  Rue  St.  Antoine,  the  gendarmes 
protecting  me  from  the  crowd.  He  thought  I  was 
going  to  the  scaffold,  where  many  a  strapping  fel 
low  had  gone  in  the  Paris  of  his  youth,  and  fought 
to  reach  me,  laying  about  him  with  his  loaf  of  bread. 
Skenedonk  would  certainly  trail  me,  and  find  a  way 
to  be  of  use,  unless  he  broke  into  trouble  as  readily 
as  I  had  done. 

My  guards  crossed  the  river  in  the  neighborhood 
161 


162  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

of  palaces,  and  came  by  many  windings  to  a  huge 
pile  rearing  its  back  near  a  garden  place,  and  there 
I  was  turned  over  to  jailers  and  darkness.  The 
entrance  was  unwholesome.  A  man  at  a  table 
opened  a  tome  which  might  have  contained  all  the 
names  in  Paris.  He  dipped  his  quill  and  wrote  by 
candlelight. 

"Political  offender  or  common  criminal?"  he 
inquired. 

"Political  offender,"  the  officer  answered. 

"What  is  he  charged  with?" 

"Trying  to  assassinate  the  emperor  in  his  post- 
chaise." 

"La,  la,  la!"  the  recorder  grunted.  "Another 
attempt!  And  gunpowder  put  in  the  street  to  blow 
the  emperor  up  only  last  week.  Good  luck  attends 
him: — only  a  few  windows  broken  and  some  com 
mon  people  killed.  Taken  in  the  act,  was  this  fel 
low?" 

"With  the  knife  in  his  hand." 

"What  name?"  the  recorder  inquired. 

I  had  thought  on  the  answer,  and  told  him  merely 
that  my  name  was  Williams. 

"Eh,  bien,  Monsieur  Veeleeum.  Take  him  to  the 
east  side  among  the  political  offenders,"  said  the 
master-jailer  to  an  assistant  or  turnkey. 

"But  it's  full,"  responded  the  turnkey. 

"Shove  him  in  some  place." 

They  searched  me,  and  the  turnkey  lighted  an 
other  candle.  The  meagerness  of  my  output  was 


NDKRING  163 

beneath  remark.   When  he  had  led  me  up  a  flight  of 
stone  steps  he  paused  and  inquired, 

"Have  you  any  money?" 

"No." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you." 

"What  is  the  name  of  this  prison?"  I  asked. 

"Ste.  Pelagic,"  he  answered.  "If  you  have  no 
money,  and  expect  to  eat  here,  you  better  give  me 
some  trinket  to  sell  for  you." 

"I  have  no  trinkets  to  give  you." 

He  laughed. 

"Your  shirt  or  breeches  will  do." 

"Are  men  shut  up  here  to  starve?" 

The  jailer  shrugged. 

"The  bread  is  very  bad,  and  the  beans  too  hard 
to  eat.  ]We  do  not  furnish  the  rations;  it  is  not 
our  fault.  The  rule  here  is  nothing  buys  nothing. 
But  sleep  in  your  breeches  while  you  can.  You  will 
soon  be  ready  enough  to  eat  them." 

I  was  ready  enough  to  eat  them  then,  but  for 
bore  to  let  him  know  it.  The  whole  place  was  damp 
and  foul.  We  passed  along  a  corridor  less  than 
four  feet  wide,  and  he  unlocked  a  cell  from  which 
a  revolting  odor  came.  There  was  no  light  except 
what  strained  through  a  loophole  under  the  ceiling. 
He  turned  the  key  upon  me,  and  I  held  my  nose. 
Oh,  for  a  deep  draught  of  the  wilderness ! 

'  There  seemed  to  be  an  iron  bed  at  one  side,  with 
a  heap  of  rags  on  top.  I  resolved  to  stand  up  all 
night  before  trusting  myself  to  that  couch.  The 
cell  was  soon  explored.  Two  strides  in  each  direc' 


164  L  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

tion  measured  it.  The  stone  walls  were  marked  or 
cut  with  names  I  could  dimly  see. 

I  braced  my  back  against  the  door  and  watched 
the  loophole  where  a  gray  hint  of  daylight  told  that 
the  sun  must  be  still  shining.  This  faded  to  a  blotch 
in  the  thick  stone,  and  became  obliterated. 

Tired  by  the  day's  march,  and  with  a  taste  of 
clean  outdoor  air  still  in  my  lungs,  I  chose  one  of 
the  two  corners  not  occupied  by  the  ill  odored  bed, 
sat  down,  and  fell  asleep,  dropping  my  cares.  A 
grating  of  the  lock  disturbed  me.  The  jailer  pushed 
a  jug  of  water  into  the  room,  and  replaced  his  bolts. 

Afterwards  I  do  not  remember  anything  except 
that  the  stone  was  not  warm,  and  my  stomach 
craved,  until  a  groan  in  my  ear  stabbed  sleep.  I 
sat  up  awake  in  every  nerve.  There  was  nobody  in 
the  cell  with  me.  Perhaps  the  groan  had  come 
from  a  neighboring  prisoner. 

Then  a  faint  stir  of  covering  could  be  heard  upon 
the  bed. 

I  rose  and  pressed  as  far  as  I  could  into  my  cor 
ner.  No  beast  of  the  wilderness  ever  had  such  ter 
ror  for  me  as  the  unknown  thing  that  had  been  my 
cell-mate  half  a  night  without  my  knowledge. 

Was  a  vampire — a  demon — a  witch — a  ghost 
locked  in  there  with  me? 

It  moaned  again,  so  faintly,  that  compassion 
instantly  got  the  better  of  superstition. 

"Who  is  there?"  I  demanded;  as  if  the  knowl 
edge  of  a  name  would  cure  terror  of  the  suffering 
thing  naming  itself. 


WANDKRING  l65 

I  got  no  answer,  and  taking  my  resolution  in 
hand,  moved  toward  the  bed,  determined  to  know 
what  housed  with  me.  The  jug  of  water  stood  in 
the  way,  and  I  lifted  it  with  instinctive  answer  to 
the  groan. 

The  creature  heard  the  splash,  and  I  knew  by 
its  mutter  what  it  wanted.  Groping  darkly,  to  poise 
the  jug  for  an  unseen  mouth,  I  realized  that  some 
thing  helpless  to  the  verge  of  extinction  lay  on  the 
bed,  and  I  would  have  to  find  the  mouth  myself  or 
risk  drowning  it.  I  held  the  water  on  the  bed-rail 
with  my  right  hand,  groped  with  the  other,  and 
found  a  clammy,  death-cold  forehead,  a  nose  and 
cavernous  cheeks,  an  open  and  fever  roughened 
mouth.  I  poured  water  on  my  handkerchief  and 
bathed  the  face.  That  would  have  been  my  first 
desire  in  extreme  moments.  The  poor  wretch  gave 
a  reviving  moan,  so  I  felt  emboldened  to  steady  the 
jug  and  let  drop  by  drop  gurgle  down  its  throat. 

Forgetting  the  horror  of  the  bed  I  sat  there,  re 
peating  at  intervals  this  poor  ministration  until  the 
porthole  again  dawned,  and  blackness  became  the 
twilight  of  day. 

My  cell-mate  could  not  see  me.  I  doubt  if  he 
ever  knew  that  a  hand  gave  him  water.  His  eyes 
were  meaningless,  and  he  was  so  gaunt  that  his 
body  scarcely  made  a  ridge  on  the  bed. 

Some  beans  and  mouldy  bread  were  put  in  for 
my  rations.  The  turnkey  asked  me  how  I  intended 
to  wash  myself  without  basin  or  ewer  or  towels, 


1  66 


and  inquired  further  if  he  could  be  of  service  in 
disposing  of  my  shirt  or  breeches. 

"What  ails  this  man?" 

He  shrugged,  and  said  the  prisoner  had  been 
wasting  with  fever. 

"You  get  fever  in  Ste.  Pelagic,"  he  added,  "espe 
cially  when  you  eat  the  prison  food.  This  man 
ought  to  be  sent  to  the  infirmary,  but  the  infirmary 
is  overflowing  now." 

"Who  is  he?'? 

"A  journalist,  or  poet,  or  some  miserable  canaille 
of  that  sort.  He  will  soon  be  out  of  your  way." 
Our  guard  craned  over  to  look  at  him.  "Oui  —  da  ! 
He  is  a  dying  man!  A  priest  must  be  sent  to  him 
soon.  I  remember  he  demanded  one  several  days 
ago." 

But  that  day  and  another  dragged  through  be 
fore  the  priest  appeared.  I  sent  out  my  waistcoat, 
and  got  a  wretched  meal,  and  a  few  spoonfuls  of 
wine  that  I  used  to  moisten  the  dying  man's  lips. 
His  life  may  or  may  not  have  been  prolonged;  but 
out  of  collapse  he  opened  his  mouth  repeatedly  and 
took  the  drops.  He  was  more  my  blessing  than  I 
was  his. 

For  I  had  an  experience  which  has  ever  since 
given  me  to  know  the  souls  of  prisoners. 

The  first  day,  in  spite  of  the  cell's  foulness,  I 
laughed  secretly  at  jailers  and  felt  at  peace,  holding 
the  world  at  bay.  I  did  not  then  know  that  Ste. 
Pelagie  was  the  tomb  of  the  accused,  where  more 
than  one  prisoner  dragged  out  years  without  learn- 


WANDKRINO  167 

ing  why  he  was  put  there.  I  was  not  brought  to 
any  trial  or  examination. 

But  gradually  an  uneasiness  which  cannot  be 
imagined  by  one  who  has  not  felt  it,  grew  upon  me. 
I  wanted  light.  The  absence  of  it  was  torture! 
Light — to  vivify  the  stifling  air,  which  died  as  this 
man  was  dying — as  I  should  die — in  blinding 
mirk! 

Moisture  broke  out  all  over  my  body,  and  cold 
dew  stood  on  my  forehead.  How  could  human 
lungs  breathe  the  midnight  of  blackening  walls? 
The  place  was  hot  with  the  hell  of  confinement.  I 
said  over  and  over — "O  God,  Thou  art  Light! — in 
Thee  is  no  darkness  at  all!" 

This  anguish  seemed  a  repetition  of  something 
I  had  endured  once  before.  The  body  and  spirit 
remembered.,  though  the  mind  had  no  register.  I 
clawed  at  the  walls.  If  I  slept,  it  was  to  wake  gasp 
ing,  fighting  upward  with  both  hands. 

The  most  singular  phase  was  that  I  reproached 
myself  for  not  soaking  up  more  sun  in  the  past. 
Oh,  how  much  light  was  going  to  waste  over  wide 
fields  and  sparkling  seas!  The  green  woods,  the 
green  grass — they  had  their  fill  of  sun,  while  we 
two  perished! 

I  remembered  creeping  out  of  glare  under  the 
shadow  of  rocks,  and  wondered  how  I  could  have 
done  it!  If  I  ever  came  to  the  sun  again  I  would 
stretch  myself  and  roll  from  side  to  side,  to  let  it 
burn  me  well!  How  blessed  was  the  tan  we  got  in 
summer  from  steeping  In  light! 


168  I^AZARRK 

Looking  at  my  cell-mate  I  could  have  rent  the 
walls. 

"We  are  robbed,"  I  told  his  deaf  ears.  "The  light, 
poured  freely  all  over  the  city,  the  light  that  be 
longs  to  you  and  me  as  much  as  to  anybody,  would 
save  you!  I  wish  I  could  pick  you  up  and  carry  you 
out  where  the  sun  would  shine  through  your  bones! 
But  let  us  be  glad,  you  and  I,  that  there  is  a  woman 
who  is  not  buried  like  a  whitening  sprout  under 
this  weight  of  stone!  She  is  free,  to  walk  around 
and  take  the  light  in  her  gray  eyes  and  the  wind 
in  her  brown  hair.  I  swear  to  God  if  I  ever  come 
out  of  this  I  will  never  pass  so  much  as  a  little  plant 
prostrate  in  darkness,  without  helping  it  to  the 

light." 

It  was  night  by  the  loophole  when  our  turnkey 
threw  the  door  open.  I  heard  the  priest  and  his 
sacristan  joking  in  the  corridor  before  they  entered 
carrying  their  sacred  parcels.  The  priest  was  a  dod 
dering  old  fellow,  almost  deaf,  for  the  turnkey 
shouted  at  his  ear,  and  dim  of  sight,  for  he  stooped 
close  to  look  at  the  dying  man,  who  was  beyond 
confession. 

"Bring  us  something  for  a  temporary  altar,"  he 
commanded  the  turnkey,  who  stood  candle  in 
hand. 

The  turnkey  gave  his  light  to  the  sacristan,  and 
taking  care  to  lock  us  in,  hurried  to  obey. 

I  measured  the  lank,  ill-strung  assistant,  more 
an  overgrown  boy  than  a  man  of  brawn,  but  ex 
panded  around  his  upper  part  by  the  fullness  of  a 


WANDKRING  169 

short  white  surplice.    He  had  a  face  cheerful  to 
silliness. 

The  turnkey  brought  a  board  supported  by  cross- 
pieces;  and  withdrew,  taking  his  own  candle,  as 
soon  as  the  church's  tapers  were  lighted. 

The  sacristan  placed  the  temporary  altar  beside 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  arrayed  it,  and  recited  the  Con- 
fiteor. 

Then  the  priest  mumbled  the  Misereatur  and  In- 
dulgentiam. 

I  had  seen  extreme  unction  administered  as  I  had 
seen  many  another  office  of  the  church  in  my  dim 
days,  with  scarcely  any  attention.  Now  the  words 
were  terribly  living.  I  knew  every  one  before  it 
rolled  off  the  celebrant's  lips.  Yet  under  that  vivid 
surface  knowledge  I  carried  on  as  vivid  a  sequence 
of  thought. 

The  priest  elevated  the  ciborium,  repeating, 
"Ecce  Agnus  Dei." 

Then  three  times — "Domine,  non  sum  dignus," 

I  heard  and  saw  with  exquisite  keenness,  yet  I 
was  thinking, 

"If  I  do  not  get  out  of  here  he  will  have  to  say 
those  words  over  me." 

He  put  the  host  in  the  parted  mouth  of  the  dying, 
and  spoke — 

"Corpus  Domini  nostri  Jesu  Christi  custodiat 
animam  tuam  in  vitam  aeternam." 

I  thought  how  easy  it  would  be  to  strip  the  loose 
surplice  over  the  sacristan's   head.    There  was  a 
dig  of  the  arm  around  your  opponent's 


170  I*  A  Z  A  R  R  E; 

which  I  had  learned  in  wrestling,  that  cut  the  breath 
off  and  dropped  him  as  limp  as  a  cloth.  It  was  an 
Indian  trick.  I  said  to  myself  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  to  use  that  trick  on  the  sacristan  if  he  left  the 
cell  behind  the  deaf  old  priest.  I  did  not  want  to 
hurt  him.  Still,  he  would  have  a  better  chance  to 
live  after  I  had  squeezed  his  neck,  than  I  should 
have  if  I  did  not  squeeze  it. 

The  priest  took  out  of  a  silver  case  a  vessel  of 
oil,  and  a  branch.  He  sprinkled  holy  water  with 
the  branch,  upon  the  bed,  the  walls,  the  sacristan 
and  me,  repeating, 

"Asperges  me,  Domine,  hyssopo,  et  mundabor : 
lavabis  me,  et  super  nivem  dealbabor." 

While  I  bent  my  head  to  the  drops,  I  knew  it  was 
impossible  to  choke  down  the  sacristan,  strip  off 
his  surplice,  invest  myself  with  it  and  get  out  of  the 
cell  before  priest  or  turnkey  looked  back.  The  sac 
rilege  of  such  an  attack  would  take  all  the  strength 
out  of  me. 

The  priest  said  the  Exaudi  nos,  exhorted  the  in 
sensible  figure,  then  recited  the  Credo  and  the  Lit 
any,  the  sacristan  responding. 

Silence  followed. 

I  knew  the  end  was  approaching.  My  hands  were 
as  cold  as  the  nerveless  one  which  would  soon  re 
ceive  the  candle.  I  told  myself  I  should  be  a  fool 
to  attempt  it.  There  was  not  one  chance  in  a  hun 
dred.  I  should  not  squeeze  hard  enough.  The 
man  would  yell.  If  I  were  swift  as  lightning  and 
silent  as  force,  they  would  take  me  in  the  act.  It 


WANDKRING  *7* 

was  impossible.  But  people  who  cannot  do  impos 
sible  things  have  to  perish. 

The  priest  dipped  his  thumb  in  oil,  and  with  it 
crossed  the  eyes,  ears,  nose,  mouth,  and  hands  of 
him  who  was  leaving  the  use  of  these  five  senses 
and  instruments  of  evil. 

Then  he  placed  a  lighted  candle  in  the  stiffened 
fingers,  and  ended  with — 

"Accipe  lampadem  ardentem  custodi  unctionem 
tuam." 

I  said  to  myself — "I  cannot  do  it!  Nobody  could! 
It  is  impossible!" 

The  sacristan  now  began  to  strip  the  altar  and 
pack  all  the  sacred  implements  into  their  cases :  pre 
paring  his  load  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

The  man  was  dead. 

The  sacristan's  last  office  was  to  fix  the  two 
lighted  altar  candles  on  the  head  and  foot  railing  of 
the  bed.  They  showed  the  corpse  in  its  appalling 
stillness,  and  stood  like  two  angels,  with  the  pit 
between  them. 

The  sacristan  rapped  upon  the  door  to  let  the 
turnkey  know  it  was  time  to  unlock. 

I  drew  the  thick  air  to  my  lung  depths.  The  man 
who  would  breathe  no  more  was  not  as  rigid  as  I 
stood.  But  there  was  no  use  in  attempting  such  a 
thing! 

The  turnkey  opened  a  gap  of  doorway  through 
which  he  could  see  the  candles  and  the  bed.  He 
opened  no  wider  than  the  breadth  of  the  priest,  who 


172  L  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

stepped  out  as  the  sacristan  bent  for  the  porta 
bles. 

There  was  lightning  in  my  arm  as  it  took  the 
sacristan  around  the  neck  and  let  him  limp  upon 
the  stones.  The  tail  of  the  priest's  cassock  was 
scarcely  through  the  door. 

"Eh  bien  1  sacristan,"  called  the  turnkey.  "Make 
haste  with  your  load.  I  have  this  death  to  report. 
He  is  not  so  pretty  that  you  must  stand  gazing  at 
him  all  night!" 

I  had  the  surplice  over  the  sacristan's  head  and 
over  mine,  and  backed  out  with  my  load,  facing  the 
room. 

If  my  jailer  had  thrust  his  candle  at  me,  if  the 
priest  had  turned  to  speak,  if  the  man  in  the  cell 
had  got  his  breath  before  the  bolt  was  turned,  if 
my  white  surplice  had  not  appeared  the  principal 
part  of  me  in  that  black  place — . 

It  was  impossible! — but  I  had  done  it. 


^  I  %  HE  turnkey's  candle  made  a  star-point  in 
the  corridor.  He  walked  ahead  of  the  priest 
and  I  walked  behind.  We  descended  to  the 
entrance  where  the  man  with  the  big  book  sat  tak 
ing  stock  of  another  wretch  between  officers.  I 
saw  as  I  shaded  my  face  with  the  load,  that  his 
inattentive  eye  dwelt  on  my  surplice,  which  would 
have  passed  me  anywhere  in  France. 

"Good-night,  monsieur  the  cure,"  said  the  turn 
key,  letting  us  through  the  outer  door. 

"Good-night,  good-night,"  the  priest  responded. 

"And  to  you,  sacristan." 

"Good-night,"  I  muttered,  and  he  came  a  step 
after  me.  The  candle  was  yet  in  his  hand,  showing 
him  my  bulk,  and  perhaps  the  small  clothes  he  had 
longed  to  vend.  I  expected  hue  and  cry,  but  walked 
on  after  the  priest,  and  heard  the  heavy  doors  jar, 
and  breathed  again. 

Hearkening  behind  and  in  front,  on  the  right  and 
the  left,  I  followed  him  in  the  direction  of  what  I 
have  since  learned  to  call  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
It  is  near  Ste.  Pelagic. 

The  priest,  wearied  by  his  long  office,  spoke  only 

once  about  the  darkness ;  for  it  was  a  cloudy  night ; 

and  did  not  attend  to  my  muttered  response.    I  do 

not  know  what  sympathy  the  excellent  old  man 

173 


174  L  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

might  have  shown  to  an  escaped  prisoner  who  had 
choked  his  sacristan,  and  I  had  no  mind  to  test  it. 
He  turned  a  corner,  and  with  the  wall  angle  be 
tween  us,  I  eased  down  the  sacred  furniture,  drew 
off  the  surplice  and  laid  that  upon  it,  and  took  to 
my  heels  up  the  left  hand  street;  for  the  guard  had 
brought  me  acress  the  river  to  Ste.  Pelagic. 

I  had  no  hat,  and  the  cut  of  my  coat  showed  that 
I  had  lost  a  waistcoat.  Avoiding  the  little  circles  of 
yellowness  made  by  lamp  posts,  I  reached  without 
mishap  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  any  patrol,  a 
bridge  crossing  to  an  island  point,  and  from  the 
other  side  of  the  point  to  the  opposite  shore.  At 
intervals  along  the  parapet  dim  lights  were  placed. 

Compared  to  Lake  George,  which  wound  like  a 
river,  and  the  mighty  St.  Lawrence  as  I  remem 
bered  it,  the  Seine  was  a  narrow  stream.  Some 
boats  made  constellations  on  the  surface.  The  mass 
of  island  splitting  it  into  two  branches  was  almost 
the  heart  of  Paris.  There  were  other  foot  passen 
gers  on  the  bridge,  and  a  gay  carriage  rolled  by. 
I  did  not  see  any  gendarmes,  and  only  one  foot 
passenger  troubled  me. 

I  was  on  the  bridge  above  the  left  arm  of  the 
river  when  an  ear  trained  in  the  woods  caught  his 
footstep,  pausing  as  mine  paused,  and  hurrying  as 
mine  hurried.  If  the  sacristan  had  been  found  in 
Ste.  Pelagic  a  pursuer  would  not  track  me  so  deli 
cately,  and  neither  would  Skenedonk  hold  back  on 
the  trail.  I  stopped  in  the  shade  when  we  two 
were  alone  on  the  second  span,  and  wheeled,  cer- 


WANDBRINQ  J75 

tain  of  catching  my  man  under  the  flare  of  a  cres 
set.  I  caught  him,  and  knew  that  it  was  Bellenger 
following  me. 

My  mind  was  made  up  in  an  instant.  I  walked 
back  to  settle  matters  with  him,  though  slaughter 
was  far  from  my  thoughts.  I  had  done  him  no 
harm ;  but  he  was  my  enemy,  and  should  be  forced 
to  let  me  alone. 

The  fellow  who  had  appeared  so  feeble  at  his 
cabin  that  I  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  so  poor- 
spirited  that  his  intellect  claimed  pity,  stood  up  as 
firm  as  a  bear  at  my  approach,  and  met  my  eyes 
with  perfect  understanding. 

Not  another  thing  do  I  remember.  The  facts  are 
simply  these:  I  faced  Bellenger;  no  blows  passed; 
my  mind  flashed  blank  with  the  partial  return  of 
that  old  eclipse  which  has  fallen  upon  me  after 
strong  excitement,  in  more  than  one  critical  mo 
ment.  The  hiatus  seems  brief  when  I  awake 
though  it  may  have  lasted  hours.  I  know  the 
eclipse  has  been  upon  me,  like  the  wing-shadow  of 
eternity ;  but  I  have  scarcely  let  go  of  time. 

I  could  not  prove  that  Bellenger  dragged  me 
to  the  parapet  and  threw  me  into  the  river.  If  I 
had  known  it  I  should  have  laughed  at  his  doing  so, 
for  I  could  swim  like  a  fish,  through  or  under  water, 
and  sit  on  the  lake  bottom  holding  my  breath  until 
Skenedonk  had  been  known  to  dive  for  me. 

When  next  I  sensed  anything  at  all  it  was  a  feel 
ing  of  cold. 

I  thought  I  was  lying  in  one  of  the  shallow  run- 


Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E} 

lets  that  come  into  Lake  George,  and  the  pebbles 
were  an  uneasy  bed,  chilling  my  shoulders.  I  was 
too  stiff  to  move,  or  even  turn  my  head  to  lift  out 
of  water  the  ear  on  which  it  rested.  But  I  could 
unclose  my  eyelids,  and  this  is  what  I  saw: — a  man 
naked  to  his  waist,  half  reclining  against  a  leaning 
slab  of  marble,  down  which  a  layer  of  water  con 
stantly  moved.  His  legs  were  clothed,  and  his 
other  garments  lay  across  them.  His  face  had 
sagged  in  my  direction.  There  was  a  deep  slash 
across  his  forehead,  and  he  showed  his  teeth  and 
his  glassy  eyes  at  the  joke. 

Beyond  this  silent  figure  was  a  woman  as  silent. 
The  ridge  of  his  body  could  not  hide  the  long  hair 
spread  upon  her  breast.  I  considered  the  company 
and  the  moisture  into  which  I  had  fallen  with  un 
speakable  amazement.  We  were  in  a  low  and  wide 
stone  chamber  with  a  groined  ceiling,  supported  by 
stone  pillars.  A  row  of  lamps  was  arranged  above 
us,  so  that  no  trait  or  feature  might  escape  a  be 
holder. 

That  we  were  put  there  for  show  entered  my 
mind  slowly  and  brought  indignation.  To  be  so 
helpless  and  so  exposed  was  an  outrage  against 
which  I  struggled  in  nightmare  impotence;  for  I 
was  bare  to  my  hips  also,  and  I  knew  not  what 
other  marks  I  carried  beside  those  which  had 
scarred  me  all  my  conscious  life. 

Now  in  the  distance,  and  echoing,  feet  descended 
stairs. 


\VANDKRINO 

I  knew  that  people  were  coming  to  look  at  us, 
and  I  could  not  move  a  muscle  in  resentment. 

I  heard  their  voices,  fringed  with  echoes,  before 
either  speaker  came  within  my  vision. 

'This  is  the  mortuary  chapel  of  the  Hotel  Dieu?" 

"Yes,  monsieur  the  marquis,  this  is  the  mortuary 
chapel." 

"Urn!  Cheerful  place!" 

''Much  more  cheerful  than  the  bottom  of  the 
river,  monsieur  the  marquis." 

"No  doubt.     Never  empty,  eh?" 

"I  have  been  a  servant  of  the  Hotel  Dieu  four 
teen  years,  monsieur  the  marquis,  and  have  not 
yet  seen  all  the  marble  slabs  vacant." 

"You  receive  the  bodies  of  the  drowned?" 

"And  place  them  where  they  may  be  seen  and 
claimed/' 

"How  long  do  you  keep  them?" 

"That  depends.  Sometimes  their  friends  seek 
them  at  once.  We  have  kept  a  body  three  months 
in  the  winter  season,  though  he  turned  very 
green." 

"Are  all  in  your  present  collection  gathering 
verdure?" 

"No,  monsieur.  We  have  a  very  fresh  one,  just 
brought  in ;  a  big  stalwart  fellow,  with  the  look  of 
the  country  about  him." 

"Small  clothes?" 
"Yes,  monsieur." 
"Buckle  shoes?" 
"Yes,  monsieur/* 


178  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

"Hair  light  and  long?" 

"The  very  man,  monsieur  the  marquis." 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  look  at  him.  If  he 
had  to  make  himself  unpleasant  he  should  have 
stayed  at  the  chateau  where  his  mother  could  iden 
tify  him.  He  is  one  of  my  peasants,  come  to  Paris 
to  see  life!  I  must  hold  my  nose  and  do  it." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  hold  the  nose,  monsieur." 

"After  fourteen  years,  perhaps  not." 

I  heard  the  snap  of  a  snuff-box  lid  as  the  marquis 
fortified  himself. 

My  agony  for  the  woman  who  was  to  be  looked 
at  turned  so  sharp  that  I  uttered  a  click  in  my 
throat.  But  they  passed  her,  and  merely  glanced 
at  my  next  neighbor. 

The  old  marquis  encountered  my  fixed  stare. 
Visibly  it  shocked  through  him.  He  was  all  gray, 
and  curled  and  powdered,  instead  of  being  clipped 
close  and  smooth  in  the  style  of  the  Empire; 
an  exquisite,  thin-featured  man,  high  of  nose  and 
eyebrows,  not  large,  but  completely  turned  out  as 
ample  man  and  bright  spirit.  The  slightest  fra 
grance  of  scent  was  in  his  presence,  and  a  shade 
of  snuff  on  his  upper  lip  appeared  fine  supercilious 
hairs. 

I  did  not  look  at  the  servant  of  the  Hotel  Dieu. 
The  old  noble  and  I  held  each  other  with  unflinch 
ing  gaze. 

"Do  you  recognize  him,  monsieur?" 

"I  do/'  the  old  noble  deliberately  answered.    "I 


W  A  1st  U>  K  I*  1  JM  Gr  179 

should  know  this  face  anywhere.  Have  him  taken 
to  my  carriage  directly." 

"Your  carriage,  monsieur !    He  can  be  sent " 

"I  said  take  him  to  my  carriage." 

"It  shall  be  done.  His  eyes  have  opened  since 
he  came  in.  But  they  sometimes  look  as  if  they 
would  speak!  Their  faces  change  constantly.  This 
other  man  who  is  grinning  to-night  may  be  quite 
serious  to-morrow." 

"And  by  the  end  of  the  month  sorry  enough, 
eh?" 

The  servant  of  the  Hotel  Dieu  tittered  amiably, 
and  I  knew  he  was  going  for  help  to  lift  me  off  the 
slab,  when  he  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise.  The  old 
marquis  wheeled  sharply,  and  said: 

"Eh,  bien !  Is  this  another  of  them,  promenading 
himself?" 

I  felt  the  Oneida  coming  before  his  silent  mocca 
sins  strode  near  me.  He  did  not  wait  an  instant, 
but  dragged  me  from  the  wet  and  death  cold  marble 
to  the  stone  floor,  where  he  knelt  upon  one  knee 
and  supported  me.  O  Skenedonk!  how  delicious 
was  the  warmth  of  your  healthy  body — how  com 
forting  the  grip  of  your  hunter  arms!  Yet  there 
are  people  who  say  an  Indian  is  like  a  snake!  I 
could  have  given  thanks  before  the  altar  at  the  side 
of  the  crypt,  which  my  fixed  eyes  encountered  as 
he  held  me.  The  marble  dripped  into  its  gutter  as 
if  complaining  of  my  escape. 

"Oh,  my  dear  friend!"  cried  the  servant. 

Skenedonk  answered  nothing  at  all 


l8o  L,  A  Z  A  R.  R  K 

"Who  is  this  gentleman,"  the  marquis  inquired, 
"that  seems  to  have  the  skin  of  a  red  German  sau 
sage  drawn  tight  over  his  head?" 

"This  is  an  American  Indian,  monsieur  the  mar 
quis." 

"An  Indian?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  he  understands  French." 

"Thank  you  for  the  hint.  It  may  save  me  from 
having  a  German  sausage  drawn  tight  over  my 
head.  I  have  heard  that  American  Indians  practice 
giving  their  friends  that  appearance.  How  do  you 
know  he  understands  French?" 

"I  think  it  is  the  man  who  used  to  come  to  the 
Hotel  Dieu  years  ago,  when  I  was  new  in  its  serv 
ice.  He  was  instructed  in  religion  by  churchmen 
in  Paris,  and  learned  the  language.  Oh,  my  dear 
monsieur — I  think  it  is  Iroquois  that  he  is  called — • 
I  am  aware  the  Americans  have  different  manners, 
but  here  we  do  not  go  into  the  mortuary  chapel 
of  the  Hotel  Dieu  and  disarrange  the  bodies  with 
out  permission!" 

Skenedonk's  eyes  probably  had  less  of  the  fawn 
in  them  than  usual.  I  felt  the  guttural  sound  under 
his  breast. 

"I  have  found  him,  and  now  I  will  take  him." 

"But  that  is  the  marquis*  servant!" 

"The  marquis  is  his  servant!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  monsieur  the  Indian !  You  speak 
of  a  noble  of  France,  the  Marquis  du  Plessy!  Be 
satisfied,"  pleaded  the  servitor  of  the  Hotel  Dieu, 
"with  this  other  body,  whom  no  one  is  likely  to 


claim!  I  may  be  permitted  to  offer  you  that,  if 
you  are  determined — though  it  may  cost  me  my 
place! — and  after  fourteen  years'  service!  If  you 
would  appease  him,  monsieur  the  marquis — though 
I  do  not  know  whether  they  ever  take  money." 

"I  will  appease  him,"  said  the  old  noble.  "Go 
about  your  errand  and  be  quick." 

The  servant  fled  up  the  stairs. 

"This  man  is  not  dead,  my  friend,"  said  the  Mar 
quis  du  Plessy. 

Skenedonk  knew  it. 

"But  he  will  not  live  long  in  this  cursed  crypt/' 
the  noble  added.  "You  will  get  into  my  carnage 
with  him,  we  will  take  him  and  put  him  in  hot 
sheets,  and  see  what  we  can  do  for  him." 

I  could  feel  Skenedonk's  antagonism  giving  way 
in  the  relaxing  of  his  muscles. 

But  maintaining  his  position  the  Oneida  asserted  : 

"He  is  not  yours!" 

"He  belongs  to  France." 

"France  belongs  to  him!"  the  Indian  reversed. 

"Eh,  eh!  Who  is  this  young  man?" 

"The  king." 

"We  have  no  king  now,  my  friend.  But  assum 
ing  there  is  a  man  who  should  be  king,  how  do  you 
know  this  is  the  one?" 

If  Skenedonk  made  answer  in  words  it  was  lost 
to  me.  The  spirit  sank  to  submergence  in  the  body, 
I  remember  combating  motion  like  a  drugged  per 
son. 

Torpor  and  prostration  followed  the  recurring 


132  Xv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

eclipse  as  that  followed  excitement  and  shock.  I 
was  not  ill;  and  gathered  knowledge  of  the  envi 
ronment,  which  was  different  from  anything  I  had 
before  experienced.  De  Chaumont's  manor  was 
a  wilderness  fortress  compared  to  this  private  hotel 
of  an  ancient  family  in  the  heart  of  Paris. 

I  lay  in  a  bed  curtained  with  damask,  and  looked 
through  open  glass  doors  at  a  garden.  Graveled 
walks,  bosky  trees  and  masses  of  flowers,  plats  of 
grass  where  arbored  seats  were  placed,  stretched 
their  vista  to  a  wall  clothed  in  ivy,  which  proved 
to  be  the  end  of  a  chapel.  For  high  over  the  cur 
tain  of  thick  green  shone  a  rose  window.  The 
afternoon  sun  laid  bare  its  fine  staining,  but  only 
in  the  darkness  when  the  church  was  illuminated 
and  organ  music  rolled  from  it,  did  the  soul  of  that 
window  appear  struck  through  with  light. 

Strange  servants  and  Doctor  Chantry  by 
glimpses,  and  the  old  noble  and  the  Oneida  almost 
constantly,  were  about  me.  Doctor  Chantry 
looked  complacently  through  the  curtains  and 
wished  me  good-morning.  I  smiled  to  see  that  he 
was  lodged  as  he  desired,  and  that  his  clothes  had 
been  renewed  in  fine  cloth,  with  lawn  to  his  neck 
and  silk  stockings  for  his  shrunk  calves.  My  master 
was  an  elderly  beau;  and  I  gave  myself  no  care  that 
he  had  spent  his  money — the  money  of  the  ex 
pedition — on  foppery. 

Skenedonk  also  had  new  toggery  in  scarfs  and 
trinkets  which  I  did  not  recognize,  and  his  fine 
buckskins  were  cleaned.  The  lackeys  appeared 


WANDKRING 

subservient  to  him,  and  his  native  dignity  was  never 
more  impressive  than  in  that  great  house.  I  watched 
my  host  and  my  servant  holding  interviews,  which 
Skenedonk  may  have  considered  councils,  on  the 
benches  in  the  garden,  and  from  which  my  secre 
tary,  the  sick  old  woman,,  seemed  excluded.  But 
the  small  interest  of  seeing  birds  arrive  on  branches, 
and  depart  again,  sufficed  me;  until  an  hour  when 
life  rose  strongly. 

I  sat  up  in  bed,  ana  finding  myself  alone,  took 
advantage  of  an  adjoining  room  where  a  marble 
bath  was  set  in  the  floor.  Returning  freshened 
from  the  plunge,  with  my  sheet  drawn  around  me, 
I  found  one  of  those  skilled  and  gentle  valets  who 
seem  less  men  than  he-maids. 

"I  am  to  dress  monsieur  when  monsieur  is 
ready,"  said  this  person. 

"I  am  ready  now,"  I  answered,  and  he  led  me 
into  a  suite  of  rooms  and  showed  me  an  array 
which  took  my  breath:  dove-colored  satin  knee 
breeches,  and  a  long  embroidered  coat  of  like  color, 
a  vest  sprigged  with  rosebuds,  cravat  and  lace  ruf 
fles,  long  silk  stockings  and  shoes  to  match  in  ex 
travagance,  a  shirt  of  fine  lawn,  and  a  hat  for  a 
nobleman. 

"Tell  your  master,"  I  said  to  the  lackey,  "that 
he  intends  me  great  kindness,,  but  I  prefer  my  own 
clothes." 

"These  are  monsieur's  own  clothes,  made  to  his 
order  and  measure." 

"But  I  gave  no  order,  and  I  was  not  measured." 


184  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

The  man  raised  his  shoulders  and  elbows  with 
gentlest  dissent. 

"These  are  only  a  few  articles  of  monsieur's  out 
fit.  Here  is  the  key.  If  monsieur  selects  another 
costume  he  will  find  each  one  complete." 

By  magic  as  it  seemed,  there  was  a  wardrobe  full 
of  fineries  provided  for  my  use.  The  man  displayed 
them ;  in  close  trousers  and  coats  with  short  fronts, 
or  knee  breeches  and  long  tails;  costumes,  he  said, 
for  the  street,  for  driving,  riding,  traveling,  for 
evening,  and  for  morning;  and  one  white  satin 
court  dress.  At  the  marquis'  order  he  had  laid  out 
one  for  a  ball.  Of  my  old  clothes  not  a  piece  was 
to  be  seen. 

The  miracle  was  that  what  he  put  upon  me  fitted 
me.  I  became  transformed  like  my  servant  and  my 
secretary,  and  stood  astonished  at  the  result. 


VI 


£  £  T"^  NTER  the  prince  of  a  fairy  tale,"  said  the 
jj  Marquis  du  Plessy  when  the  lackey  ush 
ered  me  into  the  garden. 

It  was  a  nest  of  amber  at  that  time  of  sunset,  and 
he  waited  for  me  at  a  table  laid  for  supper,  under 
a  flat  canopy  of  trees  which  had  their  tops  trained 
and  woven  into  a  mat. 

I  took  his  hand  to  kiss,  but  he  rose  up  and  mag 
nificently  placed  me  in  a  chair  opposite  himself. 

"Your  benefits  are  heavy,  monsieur,"  I  said. 
"How  shall  I  acknowledge  them?" 

"You  owe  me  nothing  at  all,"  he  answered;  "as 
you  will  see  when  I  have  told  you  a  true  story. 
It  would  sound  like  a  lie  if  anything  were  incred 
ible  in  these  fabulous  times." 

"But  you  do  not  know  anything  about  me." 

"I  am  well  instructed  in  your  history,  by  that 
charming  attendant  in  fringed  leather  breeches, 
who  has  been  acquainted  with  you  much  longer 
than  you  have  been  acquainted  with  yourself." 

"Yet  I  am  not  sure  of  deserving  the  marquis* 
interest." 

"Has  the  marquis  admitted  that  he  feels  any 
interest  in  you?  Though  this  I  will  own:  few 
experiences  have  affected  me  like  your  living  eyes 
staring  out  of  the  face  of  my  dead  king!" 


186  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

We  met  each  other  again  with  a  steady  gaze  like 
that  in  the  mortuary  chapel. 

"Do  you  believe  I  am ?" 

"Do  I  believe  you  are ?  Who  said  there 

was  such  a  person  in  existence?" 

"Louis  Philippe." 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans?  Eh,  bien!  What  does 
he  know  of  the  royal  family?  He  is  of  the  cadette 
branch." 

"But  he  told  me  the  princess,  the  dauphin's 
sister,  believes  that  the  dauphin  was  taken  alive 
from  the  Temple  and  sent  to  America." 

"My  dear  Lazarre,  I  do  not  say  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  would  lie — far  be  it  from  me — though 
these  are  times  in  which  we  courageously  attack 
our  betters.  But  he  would  not  object  to  seeing 
the  present  pretender  ousted.  Why,  since  his  father 
voted  for  the  death  of  Louis  XVI,  he  and  his  are 
almost  outlawed  by  the  older  branch!  Madame 
Royal,  the  Duchess  of  Angouleme,  cannot  endure 
him.  I  do  not  think  she  would  speak  to  him!" 

"He  is  my  friend,"  I  said  stoutly. 

"Remember  you  are  another  pretender,  and  he 
has  espoused  your  cause.  I  think  him  decent  my 
self — though  there  used  to  be  some  pretty  stories 
told  about  him  and  the  fair  sentimentalist  who 
educated  him — Madame  de  Genlis.  But  I  am  an 
old  man;  I  forget  gossip." 

My  host  gave  lively  and  delicate  attention  to  his 
food  as  it  was  brought,  and  permitted  nothing  to 
be  overheard  by  his  lackeys. 


WANDKRINQ 

The  evening  was  warm,  and  fresh  with  the  breath 
of  June;  and  the  garden,  by  a  contrivance  of  lamps 
around  its  walls.,  turned  into  a  dream  world  after 
sunset  faded. 

It  was  as  impossible  to  come  to  close  terms  with 
this  noble  of  the  old  regime  as  with  a  butterfly. 
He  alighted  on  a  subject;  he  waved  his  wings,  and 
rose.  I  felt  a  clumsy  giant  while  he  fluttered 
around  my  head,  smiling,  mocking,  thrusting  his 
pathos  to  the  quick. 

"My  dear  boy,  I  do  not  say  that  I  believe  in  you; 
I  do  not  observe  etiquette  with  you.  But  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  a  little  story  about  the  Tuileries. 
You  have  never  seen  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries?" 

I  said  I  had  not. 

"It  has  been  restored  for  the  use  of  these  Bona- 
partes.  When  I  say  these  Bonapartes,  Lazarre,  I 
am  not  speaking  against  the  Empire.  The  Empire 
gave  me  back  my  estates.  I  was  not  one  of  the 
stringent  emigres.  My  estates  are  mine,  whoever 
rules  in  France.  You  may  consider  me  a  betwixt- 
and-betweener.  Do  so.  My  dear  boy,  I  am.  My 
heart  is  with  my  dead  king.  My  carcass  is  very 
comfortable,  both  in  Paris  and  on  my  ancestral 
lands.  Napoleon  likes  me  as  an  ornament  to  his 
bourgeois  court.  I  keep  my  opinion  of  him  to 
myself.  Do  you  like  garlic,  my  boy?" 

I  told  him  I  was  not  addicted  to  the  use  of  it. 

"Garlic  is  divine.  God  gave  it  to  man.  A  hint 
of  it  in  the  appropriate  dish  makes  life  endurable. 
I  carry  a  piece  in  a  gold  box  at  the  bottom  of  my 


188  tv  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

vest  pocket,  that  I  may  occasionally  take  it  out  and 
experience  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  divine  bene 
fits/' 

He  took  out  his  pet  lump,  rubbed  it  on  the  out 
side  of  his  wine  bottle,  poured  out  a  glassful  and 
drank  it,  smiling  adorably  at  me  in  ecstasy! 

"We  were  speaking  of  the  Tuileries.  You  should 
have  seen  the  place  when  it  was  sacked  after  the 
flight  of  the  royal  family.  No,  you  should  not  have 
seen  it!  I  am  glad  you  were  gone.  Mirrors  were 
shattered,  and  lusters,  vases,  china,  gold  candle 
sticks,  rolled  about  and  were  trampled  on  the  floor. 
The  paintings  were  stabbed  with  pikes;  tables, 
screens,  gilt  stools,  chairs  crushed,  and  carpets  cut 
to  pieces;  garments  of  all  kinds  strewn  and  torn; 
all  that  was  not  carried  off  by  pillagers  being  thus 
destroyed.  It  was  yet  a  horrible  sight  days  after 
the  mob  had  done  their  work,  and  slaughtered  bod 
ies  of  guards  had  been  carried  away,  and  commis 
sioners  with  their  clerks  and  assistants  began  to 
restore  order." 

"Did  you  see  the  Tuileries  at  that  time,  mon 
sieur?"  ' 

"I  did.  I  put  on  the  clothes  of  one  of  my  peas 
ants,  slumped  in  Jacquot's  wooden  shoes,  and  kept 
my  mouth  open  as  well  as  I  could  for  the  dust.  The 
fantastic  was  yet  in  my  blood.  Exile  takes  that  out 
of  everybody  except  your  royal  uncle  of  Provence. 
But  I  knew  in  my  heart  what  I  would  help  do  with 
that  mob,  if  our  turn  ever  came  again!" 


His  dark  eyes  rested  on  the  red  wine  as  on  a  pool 
of  blood. 

"Sick  of  the  ruin,  I  leaned  out  to  look  in  the 
garden,  from  a  window  in  the  queen's  own  apart 
ment.  I  stepped  on  a  shelf,  which  appeared  fixed 
under  the  window;  but  it  moved,  and  I  found  that 
it  could  be  pushed  on  grooves  into  the  wall.  There 
was  a  cavity  made  to  hold  it.  It  had  concealed  two 
armchairs  placed  opposite  each  other,  so  cunningly 
that  their  paneled  sides  yet  looked  a  part  of  the 
thick  wall.  I  sat  down  in  one  of  them,  and  though 
the  cushion  was  stiff,  I  felt  something  hard  under 
it." 

Monsieur  du  Plessy  glanced  around  in  every 
direction  to  satisfy  himself  that  no  ears  lurked 
within  hearing. 

"Eh,  bien!  Under  the  cushion  I  found  the 
queen's  jewel-case!  Diamonds — bags  of  gold  coin 
— a  half  circlet  of  gems ! — since  the  great  necklace 
was  lost  such  an  array  had  not  seen  the  light  in 
France.  The  value  must  be  far  above  a  million 
francs." 

The  marquis  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  and  said : 

"What  should  I  have  done  with  it,  Lazarre?" 

"It  belonged  to  the  royal  family,"  I  answered. 

"But  everything  which  belonged  to  the  royal 
family  had  been  confiscated  to  the  state.  I  had  just 
seen  the  belongings  of  the  royal  family  trampled  as 
by  cattle.  First  one  tyrant  and  then  another  rose 
up  to  tell  us  what  we  should  do,  to  batten  himself 
off  the  wretched  commonwealth,  and  then  go  to  the 


190  L,AZARRE; 

guillotine  before  his  successor.  As  a  good  citizen 
I  should  have  turned  these  jewels  and  stones  and 
coins  over  to  the  state.  But  I  was  acting  the  part 
of  Jacquot,  and  as  an  honest  peasant  I  whipped 
them  under  my  blouse  and  carried  them  away. 
In  my  straits  of  exile  I  never  decreased  them.  And 
you  may  take  inventory  of  your  property  and  claim 
it  when  we  rise  from  the  table." 

My  heart  came  up  in  my  throat.  I  reached  across 
and  caught  his  hands. 

"You  believe  in  me — you  believe  in  me!*y 

"Do  I  observe  any  etiquette  with  you,  Lazarre? 
This  is  the  second  time  I  have  brought  the  fact  to 
your  notice.  I  particularly  wish  you  to  note  that  I 
do  not  observe  any  etiquette  with  you." 

"What  does  a  boy  who  has  been  brought  up 
among  Indians  know  about  etiquette!  But  you 
accept  me,  or  you  could  not  put  the  property  you 
have  loyally  and  at  such  risk  saved  for  my  family, 
into  my  hands." 

"I  don't  accept  even  your  uncle  of  Provence.  The 
king  of  Spain  and  I  prefer  to  call  him  by  that  mod 
est  title.  Since  you  died  or  were  removed  from 
the  Temple,  he  has  taken  the  name  of  Louis 
XVIII,  and  maintained  a  court  at  the  expense  of 
the  czar  of  Russia  and  the  king  of  Spain.  He  is 
a  fine  Latinist;  quotes  Latin  verse;  and  keeps  the 
mass  bells  everlastingly  ringing;  the  Russians 
laugh  at  his  royal  masses!  But  in  my  opinion  the 
sacred  gentleman  is  either  moral  slush  or  a  very 
deep  quicksand.  It  astonishes  me/'  said  the  Mar- 


quis  du  Plessy,  "to  find  how  many  people  I  do 
disapprove  of!  I  really  require  very  little  of  the 
people  I  am  obliged  to  meet." 

He  smoothed  my  hands  which  were  yet  holding 
his,  and  exploded: 

"The  Count  of  Provence  is  an  old  turtle!  Not 
exactly  a  reptile,  for  there  is  food  in  him.  But  of 
a  devilish  flat  head  and  cruel  snap  of  the  jaws  P- 

"How  can  that  be,"  I  argued,  "when  his  niece 
loves  him  so?  And  even  I,  in  the  American  woods, 
with  mind  eclipsed,  was  not  forgotten.  He  sent  me 
of  the  money  that  he  was  obliged  to  receive  in 
charity!" 

"It  is  easy  to  dole  out  charity  money;  you  are 
squeezing  other  people's  purses,  not  your  own. 
What  I  most  object  to  in  the  Count  of  Provence, 
is  that  assumption  of  kingly  airs,  providing  the 
story  is  true  which  leaked  secretly  among  the 
emigres.  The  story  which  I  heard  was  that  the 
dauphin  had  not  died,  but  was  an  idiot  in  America. 
An  idiot  cannot  reign.  But  the  throne  of  France 
is  not  clamoring  so  loud  for  a  Bourbon  at  present 
that  the  idiot's  substitute  must  be  proclaimed  and 
hold  a  beggar's  court.  There  are  mad  loyalists  who 
swear  by  this  eighteenth  Louis.  I  am  not  one  of 
them.  In  fact,  Lazarre,  I  was  rather  out  of  tune 
with  your  house!" 

"Not  you!"  I  said. 

"I  do  not  fit  in  these  times.  I  ought  to  have  gone 
with  my  king  and  my  friends  under  the  knife.  Often 
I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  slipping  away.  That  I 


Iy  A  Z  A  R  R  E> 

should  live  to  see  disgusting  fools  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  after  the  Terror  was  over! — young  men 
affecting  the  Greek  and  Roman  manner — greeting 
one  another  by  wagging  of  the  head!  They  wore 
gray  coats  with  black  collars,  gray  or  green  cra 
vats,  carried  cudgels,  and  decreed  that  all  men 
should  have  the  hair  plaited,  powdered,  and  fas 
tened  up  with  a  comb,  like  themselves  i  The  wearer 
of  a  queue  was  likely  to  be  knocked  on  the  head. 
These  creatures  used  to  congregate  at  the  old 
Feydeau  theater,  or  meet  around  the  entrance  of 
the  Louvre,  to  talk  classical  jargon,  and  wag!" 

The  Marquis  du  Plessy  drew  himself  together 
with  a  strong  shudder.  I  had  the  desire  to  stand 
between  him  and  the  shocks  of  an  alien  world. 
Yet  there  was  about  him  a  tenacious  masculine 
strength,  an  adroitness  of  self-protection  which 
needed  no  champion. 

"Did  the  Indian  tell  you  about  a  man  named 
Bellenger?"  I  inquired. 

"Bellenger  is  part  of  the  old  story  about  the 
dauphin's  removal.  I  heard  of  him  first  at  Cob- 
lenz.  And  I  understand  now  that  he  is  following 
you  with  another  dauphin,  and  objecting  to  you 
in  various  delicate  ways.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  is 
master  of  France,  and  in  the  way  to  be  master  of 
Europe,  because  he  has  a  nice  sense  of  the  values 
of  men,  and  the  best  head  for  detail  that  was  ever 
formed  in  human  shape.  There  is  something 
almost  supernatural  in  his  grasp  of  affairs. 
He  lets  nothing  escape  him.  The  only;  mis- 


W  A  K  E>  K  R  I  N  G  *93 

take  he  ever  made  was  butchering  the  young 
Duke  d'Enghien — the  courage  and  clearness 
of  the  man  wavered  that  one  instant;  and  by  the 
way,  he  borrowed  my  name  for  the  duke's  incog 
nito  during  the  journey  under  arrest!  England, 
Russia,  Austria  and  Sweden  are  combining  against 
Napoleon.  He  will  beat  them.  For  while  other 
men  sleep,  or  amuse  themselves,  or  let  circum 
stance  drive  them,  he  is  planning  success  and 
providing  for  all  possible  contingencies.  Take  a 
leaf  out  of  the  general's  book,  my  boy.  No  enemy 
is  contemptible.  If  you  want  to  force  the  hand  of 
fortune — scheme! — scheme! — all  the  time! — out- 
scheme  the  other  fellow!" 

The  marquis  rose  from  the  table. 

"I  am  longer  winded,"  he  said,  "than  a  man 
named  De  Chaumont,  who  has  been  importuning 
Bonaparte,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  to  reinstate 
an  American  emigre,  a  Madame  de  Ferrier." 

"Will  Bonaparte  restore  her  lands?"  I  asked, 
feeling  my  voice  like  a  rope  in  my  throat. 

"Do  you  know  her  family?" 

"I  knew  Madame  de  Ferrier  in  America." 

"Their  estate  lies  next  to  mine.  And  what  is 
the  little  De  Ferrier  like  since  she  is  grown?" 

"A  beautiful  woman." 

"Ah — ah!  Bonaparte's  plan  will  then  be  easy  of 
execution.  You  may  see  her  this  evening  here  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  I  believe  she  is  to  ap 
pear  at  Madame  de  Permon's,  where  Bonaparte 
may  look  in." 


194  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

My  host  bolted  the  doors  of  his  private  cabinet, 
and  took  from  the  secret  part  of  a  wall  cupboard 
the  queen's  jewel-case.  We  opened  it  between  us. 
The  first  thing  I  noticed  was  a  gold  snuffbox,  set 
with  portraits  of  the  king,  the  queen,  and  their  two 
children. 

How  I  knew  them  I  cannot  tell.  Their  pictured 
faces  had  never  been  put  before  my  conscious  eyes 
until  that  moment.  Other  portraits  might  have 
l>been  there.  I  had  no  doubt,  no  hesitation. 

I  was  on  my  knees  before  the  face  I  had  seen  in 
spasms  of  remembrance — with  oval  cheeks,  and  fair 
hair  rolled  high — and  open  neck — my  royal 
mother! 

Next  I  looked  at  the  king,  heavier  of  feature, 
honest  and  straight  gazing,  his  chin  held  upward; 
at  the  little  sister,  a  smaller  miniature  of  the  queen; 
at  the  softly  molded  curves  of  the  child  that  was 
myself! 

The  marquis  turned  his  back. 

Before  I  could  speak  I  rose  and  put  my  arms 
around  him.  He  wheeled,  took  my  hand,  stood 
at  a  little  distance,  and  kissed  it. 

We  said  not  one  word  about  the  portraits,  but 
sat  down  with  the  jewel-case  again  between  us. 

"These  stones  and  coins  are  also  my  sister's, 
monsieur  the  marquis?" 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"I  had  ample  opportunity,  my  dear  boy,^to  turn 
them  into  the  exchequer  of  the  Count  of  Provence. 
Before  his  quarrel  with  the  late  czar  of  Russia  he 


WANDKRING  *95 

maintained  a  dozen  gentlemen-in-waiting,  and  per 
haps  as  many  ladies,  to  say  nothing  of  priests,  ser 
vants,  attendants  of  attendants,  and  guards.  This 
treasure  might  last  him  two  years.  If  the  king  of 
Spain  and  his  majesty  of  Russia  got  wind  of  it, 
and  shut  off  their  pensions,  it  would  not  last  so 
long.  I  am  too  thrifty  a  Frenchman  to  dissipate 
the  hoards  of  the  state  in  foreign  parts!  Yet,  if 
you  question  my  taste — I  will  not  say  my  honesty, 
Lazarre " 

"I  question  nothing,  monsieur!     I  ask  advice.'^ 

"Eh,  bien!  Then  do  not  be  quite  as  punctilious 
as  the  gentleman  who  got  turned  out  of  the  debtor 
side  of  Ste.  Pelagic  into  an  alley.  'This  will  not 
do/  says  he.  So  around  he  posts  to  the  entrance, 
and  asks  for  admittance  again!" 

"Catch  me  knocking  at  Ste.  Pelagie  for  admit 
tance  again!" 

"Then  my  advice  is  to  pay  your  tailor,  if  he  has 
done  his  work  acceptably." 

"He  has  done  it  marvelously,  especially  in  the 
fitting." 

"A  Parisian  workman  finds  it  no  miracle  to  fit  a 
man  from  his  old  clothes.  I  took  the  liberty  of 
sending  your  orders.  Having  heard  my  little  story, 
you  understand  that  you  owe  me  nothing  but  your 
society;  and  a  careful  inventory  of  this  trust." 

We  were  a  long  time  examining  the  contents  of 
the  case.  There  were  six  bags  of  coin,  all  gold 
louis;  many  unset  gems;  rings  for  the  hand;  and 
clusters  of  various  sorts  which  I  knew  not  how  to 


196  I,  A.  Z  A  R  R  E> 

name,  that  blazed  with  a  kind  of  white  fire  very 
dazzling.  The  half-way  crown  was  crusted  thick 
with  colored  stones  the  like  of  which  I  could  not 
have  imagined  in  my  dreams.  Their  names,  the 
marquis  told  me,  were  sapphires,  emeralds,  rubies; 
and  large  clear  diamonds,  like  beads  of  rain.  When 
everything  was  carefully  returned  to  place,  he 
asked: 

"Shall  I  still  act  as  your  banker?" 

I  begged  him  to  hide  the  jewel  box  again,  and  he 
concealed  it  in  the  wall. 

"We  go  to  the  Rue  Ste.  Croix,  Lazarre,  which 
is  an  impossible  place  for  your  friend  Bellenger  at 
this  time.  Do  you  dance  a  gavotte?" 

I  told  him  I  could  dance  the  Indian  corn  dance, 
and  he  advised  me  to  reserve  this  accomplishment. 

"Bonaparte's  police  are  keen  on  any  scent,  espe 
cially  the  scent  of  a  prince.  His  practical  mind 
would  reject  the  Temple  story,  if  he  ever  heard  it; 
and  there  are  enough  live  Bourbons  for  him  to 
watch." 

"But  there  is  the  Count  de  Chaumont,"  I  sug 
gested. 

"He  is  not  a  man  that  would  put  faith  in  the 
Temple  story,  either,  and  I  understand  he  is  kindly 
disposed  towards  you." 

"I  lived  in  his  house  nearly  a  year." 

"He  is  not  a  bad  fellow  for  the  new  sort.  I  feel 
certain  of  him.  He  is  coaxing  my  friendship  be 
cause  of  ancient  amity  between  the  houses  of  Du 
Plessy  and  De  Ferrier." 


WANDKRINQ  197 

"Did  you  say,  monsieur,  that  Bonaparte  intends 
to  restore  Madame  de  Ferrier's  lands?" 

"They  have  been  given  to  one  of  his  rising  offi 
cers." 

"Then  he  will  not  restore  them?" 

"Oh,  yes,  with  interest!  His  plan  is  to  give  her 
the  officer  for  a  husband." 


VII 


EVEN  in  those  days  of  falling  upon  adven 
ture  and  taking  hold  of  life  with  the  ar 
rogance  of  young  manhood,  I  knew  the  value 
of  money,  though  it  has  always  been  my  fault  to 
give  it  little  consideration.  Experience  taught  me 
that  poverty  goes  afoot  and  sleeps  with  strange 
bed-fellows.  But  I  never  minded  going  afoot  or 
sharing  the  straw  with  cattle.  However,  my  secre 
tary  more  than  once  took  a  high  hand  with  me 
because  he  bore  the  bag;  and  I  did  mind  debt 
chasing  my  heels  like  a  rising  tide. 

Our  Iroquois  had  their  cottages  in  St.  Regis  and 
their  hunting  cabins  on  Lake  George.  They  went 
to  church  when  not  drunk  and  quarrelsome,  paid 
the  priest  his  dues,  labored  easily,  and  cared  noth 
ing  for  hoarding.  But  every  step  of  my  new  life 
called  for  coin. 

As  I  look  back  on  that  hour  the  dominating 
thought  rises  clearly. 

To  see  men  admitting  that  you  are  what  you 
believe  yourself  to  be,  is  one  of  the  triumphs  of 
existence.  The  jewel-case  stamped  identification 
upon  me.  I  felt  like  one  who  had  communicated 
with  the  past  and  received  a  benediction.  There 
was  special  provision  in  the  way  it  came  to  me; 


WANDBRINQ  199 

for  man  loves  to  believe  that  God  watches  over  and 
mothers  him. 

Forgetting — if  I  had  ever  heard — how  the 
ancients  dreaded  the  powers  above  when  they  had 
been  too  fortunate,  I  went  with  the  marquis  in  high 
spirits  to  the  Rue  Ste.  Croix.  There  were  pots  of 
incense  sending  little  wavers  of  smoke  through  the 
rooms,  and  the  people  might  have  peopled  a  dream. 
The  men  were  indeed  all  smooth  and  trim;  but  the 
women  had  given  rein  to  their  fancies. 

Our  hostess  was  a  fair  and  gracious  woman,  of 
Greek  ancestry,  as  Bonaparte  himself  was,  and  her 
daughter  had  been  married  to  his  favorite  general, 
the  marquis  told  me. 

I  notice  only  the  unusual  in  clothing;  the  scan 
tiness  of  ladies'  apparel  that  clung  like  the  skin,  and 
lay  upon  the  oak  floor  in  ridges,  among  which  a 
man  must  shove  his  way,  was  unusual  to  me. 

I  saw,  in  space  kept  cleared  around  her  chair, 
one  beauty  with  nothing  but  sandals  on  her  feet, 
though  these  were  white  as  milk,  silky  skinned  like 
a  hand,  and  ringed  with  jewels  around  the  toes. 

Bonaparte's  youngest  sister  stood  receiving 
court.  She  was  attired  like  a  Bacchante,  with  bands 
of  fur  in  her  hair,  topped  by  bunches  of  gold  grapes. 
Her  robe  and  tunic  of  muslin  fine  as  air,  woven  in 
India,  had  bands  of  gold,  clasped  with  cameos,  un 
der  the  bosom  and  on  the  arms.  Each  woman 
seemed  to  have  planned  outdoing  the  others  in 
conceits  which  marked  her  own  fairness. 

I  looked  anxiously  down  the  spacious  room  with- 


200  I*  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

out  seeing  Madame  de  Ferrier.  The  simplicity, 
which  made  for  beauty  of  houses  in  France,  struck 
me,  in  the  white  and  gold  paneling,  and  the  chim 
ney.,  which  lifted  its  mass  of  design  to  the  ceiling. 
I  must  have  been  staring  at  this  and  thinking  of 
Madame  de  Ferrier  when  my  name  was  called  in  a 
lilting  and  excited  fashion: 

"Lazarre !" 

There  was  Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  in  the 
midst  of  gallants,  and  better  prepared  to  dance  a 
gavotte  than  any  other  charmer  in  the  room.  For 
her  gauze  dress,  fastened  on  the  shoulders  so  that 
it  fell  not  quite  off  her  bosom,  reached  only  to  the 
middle  of  the  calf.  This  may  have  been  for  the  pro 
tection  of  rosebuds  with  which  ribbons  drawn 
lengthwise  through  the  skirt,  were  fringed;  but 
it  also  showed  her  child-like  feet  and  ankles,  and 
made  her  appear  tiptoe  like  a  fairy,  and  more  re 
markable  than  any  other  figure  except  the  bare 
footed  dame.  She  held  a  crook  massed  with  rib 
bons  and  rosebuds  in  her  hand,  rallying  the  men 
to  her  standard  by  the  lively  chatter  which  they 
like  better  than  wisdom. 

Mademoiselle  Annabel  gave  me  her  hand  to 
kiss,  and  made  room  for  the  Marquis  du  Plessy 
and  me  in  her  circle.  I  felt  abashed  by  the  looks 
these  courtiers  gave  me,  but  the  marquis  put  them 
readily  in  the  background,  and  delighted  in  the 
poppet,  taking  her  quite  to  himself. 

"We  hear  such  wonderful  stories  about  you, 
Lazarre!  Besides,  Doctor  Chantry  came  to  see  us 


NDKRINQ  201 

and  told  us  all  he  knew.  Remember,  Lazarre  be 
longed  to  us  before  you  discovered  him,  monsieur 
the  Marquis  du  Plessy!  He  and  I  are  Americans!" 

Some  women  near  us  commented,  as  seemed  to 
be  the  fashion  in  that  society,  with  a  frankness 
which  Indians  would  have  restrained. 

"See  that  girl!  The  emperor  may  now  imagine 
what  his  brother  Jerome  has  done!  Her  father  has 
brought  her  over  from  America  to  marry  her,  and 
it  will  need  all  his  money  to  accomplish  that!" 

Annabel  shook  the  rain  of  misty  hair  at  the  sides 
of  her  rose  pink  face,  and  laughed  a  joyful  retort. 

"No  wonder  poor  Prince  Jerome  had  to  go  to 
America  for  a  wife!  Did  you  ever  see  such  hairy 
faced  frights  as  these  Parisians  of  the  Empire! 
Lazarre  fell  ill  looking  at  them.  He  pretends  he 
doesn't  see  women,  monsieur,  and  goes  about  with 
his  coat  skirts  loaded  with  books.  I  used  to  be 
almost  as  much  afraid  of  him  as  I  am  of  you!" 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  dread  to  enter  paradise." 

"Why,  monsieur?" 

"The  angels  are  afraid  of  me!" 

"Not  when  you  smile." 

"Teach  me  that  adorable  smile  of  yours!" 

"Oh,  how  improving  you  will  be  to  Lazarre, 
monsieur!  He  never  paid  me  a  compliment  in  his 
life.  He  never  said  anything  but  the  truth." 

"The  lucky  dog!  What  pretty  things  he  had  to 
say!" 

Annabel  laughed  and  shook  her  mist  in  great 
enjoyment.  I  liked  to  watch  her,  yet  I  wondered 


202  L,  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

where  Madame  de  Ferrier  was,  and  could  not  bring 
myself  to  inquire. 

"These  horrible  incense  pots  choke  me,"  said 
Annabel. 

"I  like  them,"  said  the  marquis. 

"Do  you?  So  do  I,"  she  instantly  agreed  with 
him. 

"Though  we  get  enough  incense  in  church." 

"I  should  think  so!    Do  you  like  mass?" 

"I  was  brought  up  on  my  knees.  But  I  never 
acquired  the  real  devotee's  back." 

"Sit  on  your  heels,"  imparted  Annabel  in  strict 
confidence.  "Try  it." 

"I  will.  Ah,  mademoiselle,  any  one  who  could 
bring  such  comfort  into  religion  might  make  even 
wedlock  endurable!" 

Madame  de  Ferrier  appeared  between  the  cur 
tains  of  a  deep  window.  She  was  talking  with 
Count  de  Chaumont  and  an  officer  in  uniform. 
Her  face  pulsed  a  rosiness  like  that  quiver  in  win 
ter  skies  which  we  call  northern  lights.  The  clothes 
she  wore,  being  always  subdued  by  her  head  and 
shoulders,  were  not  noticeable  like  other  women's 
clothes.  But  I  knew  as  soon  as  her  eyes  rested  on 
me  that  she  found  me  changed. 

De  Chaumont  came  a  step  to  meet  me,  and  I  felt 
miraculously  equal  to  him,  with  some  power  which 
was  not  in  me  before. 

"You  scoundrel,  you  have  fallen  into  luck!"  he 
said  heartily. 


NDKRING  203 

"One  of  our  proverbs  is,  'A  blind  pig  will  find 
an  acorn  once  in  a  while.'  " 

'There  isn't  a  better  acorn  in  the  woods,  or  one 
harder  to  shake  down.  How  did  you  do  it?" 

I  gave  him  a  wise  smile  and  held  my  tongue; 
knowing  well  that  if  I  had  remained  in  Ste.  Pelagic 
and  the  fact  ever  came  to  De  Chaumonfs  ears,  like 
other  human  beings  he  would  have  reprehended  my 
plunging  into  the  world. 

"We  are  getting  on  tremendously,  Lazarre! 
When  your  inheritance  falls  in,  come  back  with  me 
to  Castorland.  We  will  found  a  wilderness  em 
pire!" 

I  did  not  inquire  what  he  meant  by  my  inheri 
tance  falling  in.  The  marquis  pressed  behind  me, 
and  when  I  had  spoken  to  Madame  de  Ferrier  I 
knew  it  was  his  right  to  take  the  hand  of  the  woman 
who  had  been  his  little  neighbor. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  madame?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,  Monsieur  du  Plessy;  and  your 
wall  fruit,  too!" 

"The  rogue!  Permit  me  to  tell  you  those  pears 
are  hastening  to  be  ready  for  you  once  more." 

"And  Bichette,  monsieur — is  dear  old  Bichette 
alive?" 

"She  is  alive,  and  draws  the  chair  as  well  as  ever. 
I  hear  you  have  a  little  son.  He  may  love  the 
old  pony  and  chair  as  you  used  to  love  them." 

"Seeing  you,  monsieur,  is  like  coming  again  to 
my  home!" 

"I  trust  you  may  come  soon." 


204  ly  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

They  spoke  of  fruit  and  cattle.  Neither  dared 
mention  the  name  of  any  human  companion  asso 
ciated  with  the  past. 

I  took  opportunity  to  ask  Count  de  Chaumont 
if  her  lands  were  recovered.  A  baffled  look  troubled 
his  face. 

"The  emperor  will  see  her  to-night,"  he  an 
swered.  "It  is  impossible  to  say  what  can  be  done 
until  the  emperor  sees  her." 

"Is  there  any  truth  in  the  story  that  he  will 
marry  her  to  the  officer  who  holds  her  estate?" 

The  count  frowned. 

"No — no!   That's  impossible." 

"Will  the  officer  sell  his  rights  if  Madame  de 
Ferrier's  are  not  acknowledged?" 

"I  have  thought  of  that.  And  I  want  to  consult 
the  marquis." 

When  he  had  a  chance  to  draw  the  marquis  aside, 
I  could  speak  to  Madame  de  Ferrier  without  being 
overheard;  though  my  time  might  be  short.  She 
stood  between  the  curtains,  and  the  man  in  uniform 
had  left  his  place  to  me. 

"Well,  I  am  here,"  I  said. 

"And  I  am  glad,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  here  because  I  love  you." 

She  held  a  fold  of  the  curtain  in  her  hand  and 
looked  down  at  it;  then  up  at  me. 

"You  must  not  say  that  again." 

"Why?" 

"You  know  why." 

"I  do  not" 


WANDKRING  205 

"Remember  who  you  are." 

"I  am  your  lover.'* 

She  looked  quickly  around  the  buzzing  drawing- 
room,  and  leaned  cautiously  nearer. 

"You  are  my  sovereign." 

"I  believe  that,  Eagle.  But  it  does  not  follow 
that  I  shall  ever  reign." 

"Are  you  safe  here?  Napoleon  Bonaparte  has 
spies." 

"But  he  has  regard  also  for  old  aristocrats  like 
the  Marquis  du  Plessy." 

"Yet  remember  what  he  did  to  the  Duke  d'En- 
ghien.  A  Bourbon  prince  is  not  allowed  in 
France." 

"How  many  people  consider  me  a  Bourbon 
prince?  I  told  you  why  I  am  here.  Fortune  has 
wonderfully  helped  me  since  I  came  to  France. 
Lazarre,  the  dauphin  from  the  Indian  camps,  bra 
zenly  asks  you  to  marry  him,  Eagle!" 

Her  face  blanched  white,  but  she  laughed. 

"No  De  Ferrier  ever  took  a  base  advantage  of 
royal  favor.  Don't  you  think  this  is  a  strange  con 
versation  in  a  drawing-room  of  the  Empire?  I 
hated  myself  for  being  here — until  you  came  in." 

"Eagle,  have  you  forgotten  our  supper  on  the 
island?" 

"Yes,  sire."    She  scarcely  breathed  the  word. 

"My  unanointed  title  is  Lazarre.  And  I  suppose 
you  have  forgotten  the  fog  and  the  mountain, 
too?" 

"Yes." 


206  Iv  A.  Z  A  R  R.  K 

"Lazarre!" 

"Yes,  Lazarre." 

"You  love  me!    You  shall  love  me!" 

"As  a  De  Ferrier  should;  no  farther!" 

Her  lifted  chin  expressed  a  strength  I  could  not 
combat.  The  slight,  dark-haired  girl,  younger 
than  myself,  mastered  and  drew  me  as  if  my  spirit 
was  a  stream,  and  she  the  ocean  into  which  it  must 
flow.  Darkness  like  that  of  Ste.  Pelagic  dropped 
over  the  brilliant  room.  I  was  nothing  after  all 
but  a  palpitating  boy,  venturing  because  he  must 
venture.  Light  seemed  to  strike  through  her  blood, 
however,  endowing  her  with  a  splendid  pallor. 

"I  am  going,"  I  determined  that  moment,  "to 
Mittau." 

The  adorable  curve  of  her  eyelids,  unlike  any 
other  eyelids  I  ever  saw,  was  lost  to  me,  for  her 
eyes  flew  wide  open. 

"To " 

She  looked  around  and  hesitated  to  pronounce 
the  name  of  the  Count  of  Provence. 

"Yes.  I  am  going  to  find  some  one  who  belongs 
to  me." 

"You  have  the  marquis  for  a  friend." 

"And  I  have  also  Skenedonk,  and  our  tribe,  for 
my  friends.  But  there  is  no  one  who  understands 
that  a  man  must  have  some  love." 

"Consult  Marquis  du  Plessy  about  going  to  Mit 
tau.  It  may  not  be  wise.  And  war  is  threatened 
on  the  frontier." 

"I  will  consult  him,  of  course.    But  I  am  going." 


WANDKRINQ  207 

"Lazarre,  there  were  ladies  on  the  ship  who 
cursed  and  swore,  and  men  who  were  drunk  the 
greater  part  of  the  voyage.  I  was  brought  up  in 
the  old-fashioned  way  by  the  Saint-Michels,  so  I 
know  nothing  of  present  customs.  But  it  seems 
to  me  our  times  are  rude  and  wicked.  And  you, 
just  awake  to  the  world,  have  yet  the  innocence  of 
that  little  boy  who  sank  into  the  strange  and  long 
stupor.  If  you  changed  I  think  I  could  not  bear  it!" 

"I  will  not  change." 

A  stir  which  must  have  been  widening  through 
the  house  as  a  ripple  widens  on  a  lake,  struck  us, 
and  turned  our  faces  with  all  others  to  a  man  who 
stood  in  front  of  the  chimney.  He  was  not  large 
in  person,  but  as  an  individual  his  presence  was 
massive — was  penetrating.  I  could  have  topped 
him  by  head  and  shoulders;  yet  without  mastery. 
He  took  snuff  as  he  slightly  bowed  in  every  direc 
tion,  shut  the  lid  with  a  snap,  and  fidgeted  as  if 
impatient  to  be  gone.  He  had  a  mouth  of  wonder 
ful  beauty  and  expression,  and  his  eyes  were  more 
alive  than  the  eyes  of  any  other  man  in  the  assem 
bly.  I  felt  his  gigantic  force  as  his  head  dipped 
forward  and  he  glanced  about  under  his  brows. 

"There  is  the  emperor,"  De  Chaumont  told 
Eagle;  and  I  thought  he  made  indecent  haste  to 
return  and  hale  her  away  before  Napoleon. 

The  greatest  soldier  in  Europe  passed  from  one 
person  to  another  with  the  air  of  doing  his  duty 
and  getting  rid  of  it.  Presently  he  raised  his  voice, 


208  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E> 

speaking  to  Madame  de  Ferrier  so  that,  all  in  the 
room  might  hear. 

"Madame,  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  you  wear 
leno.  I  do  not  like  those  English  muslins,  sold  at 
the  price  of  their  weight  in  gold,  and  which  do  not 
look  half  as  well  as  beautiful  white  leno.  Wear 
leno,  cambric,  or  silk,  ladies,  and  then  my  manu 
factures  will  flourish." 

I  wondered  if  he  would  remember  the  face  of  the 
man  pushed  against  his  wheel  and  called  an  assas 
sin,  when  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  named  me  to  him 
as  the  citizen  Lazarre. 

"You  are  a  lucky  man,  Citizen  Lazarre,  to  gain 
the  marquis  for  your  friend.  I  have  been  trying  a 
number  of  years  to  make  him  mine." 

"All  Frenchmen  are  the  friends  of  Napoleon,'* 
the  marquis  said  to  me. 

I  spoke  directly  to  the  sovereign,  thereby  vio 
lating  etiquette,  my  friend  told  me  afterwards, 
laughing;  and  Bonaparte  was  a  stickler  for  prece 
dent. 

"But  all  Frenchmen,"  I  could  not  help  reminding 
the  man  in  power,  "are  not  faithful  friends." 

He  gave  me  a  sharp  look  as  he  passed  on,  and 
repeated  what  I  afterward  learned  was  one  of  his 
favorite  maxims: 

"A  faithful  friend  is  the  true  image." 


VIII 

UST  you  go  to  Mittau?"  the  Marquis 
du  Plessy  said  when  I  told  him  what 
I  intended  to  do.  "It  is  a  long,  expensive 
post  journey;  and  part  of  the  way  you  may  not  be 
able  to  post.  Riga,  on  the  g^ulf  beyond  Mittau,  is  a 
fine  old  town  of  pointed  gables  and  high  stone 
houses.  But  when  I  was  in  Mittau  I  found  it  a  mere 
winter  camp  of  Russian  nobles.  The  houses  are  low, 
one-story  structures.  There  is  but  one  castle,  and  in 
that  his  Royal  Highness  the  Count  of  Provence 
holds  mimic  court." 

We  were  riding  to  Versailles,  and  our  horses 
almost  touched  sides  as  my  friend  put  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder. 

"Don't  go,  Lazarre.  You  will  not  be  welcome 
there.'* 

"I  must  go,  whether  I  am  welcome  or  not." 

"But  I  may  not  last  until  you  come  back." 

"You  will  last  two  months.  Can't  I  post  to  Mit 
tau  and  back  in  two  months?" 

"God  knows." 

I  looked  at  him  drooping  forward  in  the  saddle, 
and  said: 

"If  you  need  me  I  will  stay,  and  think  no  more 
about  seeing  those  of  my  own  blood." 

"I  do  need  you;  but  you  shall  not  stay.  You 
309 


2IO  I*  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

shall  go  to  Mittau  in  my  own  post-carriage.  It 
will  bring  you  back  sooner." 

But  his  post-carriage  I  could  not  accept.  The 
venture  to  Mittau,  its  wear  and  tear  and  waste, 
were  my  own;  and  I  promised  to  return  with  all 
speed.  I  could  have  undertaken  the  road  afoot, 
driven  by  the  necessity  I  felt. 

"The  Duchess  of  Angouleme  is  a  good  girl,"  said 
the  marquis,  following  the  line  of  my  thoughts. 
"She  has  devoted  herself  to  her  uncle  and  her  hus 
band.  When  the  late  czar  withdrew  his  pension,  and 
turned  the  whole  mimic  court  out  of  Mittau,  she 
went  with  her  uncle,  and  even  waded  the  snow 
with  him  when  they  fell  into  straits.  Diamonds 
given  to  her  by  her  grandmother,  the  Empress 
Maria  Theresa,  she  sold  for  his  support.  But  the 
new  czar  reinstated  them;  and  though  they  live 
less  pretentiously  at  Mittau  in  these  days,  they  still 
have  their  priest  and  almoner,  the  Duke  of  Guiche, 
and  other  courtiers  hanging  upon  them.  My  boy, 
can  you  make  a  court  bow  and  walk  backwards? 
You  must  practice  before  going  into  Russia." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better,"  I  said,  "for  those  who 
know  how,  to  practice  the  accomplishment  before 
me?" 

"Imagine  the  Count  of  Provence  stepping  down 
from  playing  royalty  to  do  that!"  my  friend 
laughed. 

"I  don't  know  why  he  shouldn't,  since  he  knows 
I  am  alive.  He  has  sent  money  every  year  for  my 
support." 


"An  established  custom,  Lazarre,  gains  strength 
every  day  it  is  continued.  You  see  how  hard  it  is 
to  overturn  an  existing  system,  because  men  have 
to  undo  the  work  they  have  been  doing  perhaps 
for  a  thousand  years.  Time  gives  enormous  sta 
bility.  Monsieur  the  Count  of  Provence  has  been 
practicing  royalty  since  word  went  out  that  his 
nephew  had  died  in  the  Temple.  It  will  be  no  easy 
matter  to  convince  him  you  are  fit  to  play  king  in 
his  stead." 

This  did  not  disturb  me,  however.  I  thought 
more  of  my  sister.  And  I  thought  of  vast  stretches 
across  the  center  of  Europe.  The  Indian  stirred  in 
me,  as  it  always  did  stir,  when  the  woman  I  wanted 
was  withdrawn  from  me. 

I  could  not  tell  my  friend,  or  any  man,  about 
Madame  de  Ferrier.  This  story  of  my  life  is  not 
to  be  printed  until  I  am  gone  from  the  world. 
Otherwise  the  things  set  down  so  freely  would  re 
main  buried  in  myself. 

Some  beggars  started  from  hovels,  running  like 
dogs,  holding  diseased  and  crooked-eyed  children 
up  for  alms,  and  pleading  for  God's  sake  that  we 
would  have  pity  on  them.  When  they  disappeared 
with  their  coin  I  asked  the  marquis  if  there  had 
always  been  wretchedness  in  France. 

"There  is  always  wretchedness  everywhere,"  he 
answered.  "Napoleon  can  turn  the  world  upside 
down,  but  he  cannot  cure  the  disease  of  hereditary 
poverty.  I  never  rode  to  Versailles  without  en 
countering  these  people." 


212  Tu  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

When  we  entered  the  Place  d'Armes  fronting 
the  palace,  desolation  worse  than  that  of  the  beg 
gars  faced  us.  That  vast  noble  pile,  untenanted 
and  sacked,  symbolized  the  vanished  monarchy  of 
France.  Doors  stood  wide.  The  court  was  strewn 
with  litter  and  filth;  and  grass  started  rank  be 
twixt  the  stones  where  the  proudest  courtiers  in 
the  world  had  trod.  I  tried  to  enter  the  queen's 
rooms,  but  sat  on  the  steps  leading  to  them,  hold 
ing  my  head  in  my  hands.  It  was  as  impossible 
as  it  had  been  to  enter  the  Temple. 

The  fountains  which  once  made  a  concert  of 
mist  around  their  lake  basin,  satisfying  like  music, 
the  marquis  said,  were  dried.,  and  the  figures 
broken.  Millions  had  been  spent  upon  this  domain 
of  kings,  and  nothing  but  the  summer's  natural 
verdure  was  left  to  unmown  stretches.  The  foot 
shrank  from  sending  echoes  through  empty  palace 
apartments,  and  from  treading  the  weedy  margins 
of  canal  and  lake. 

"I  should  not  have  brought  you  here,  Lazarre," 
said  my  friend. 

"I  had  to  come,  monsieur." 

We  walked  through  meadow  and  park  to  the 
little  palaces  called  Grand  and  Petit  Trianon,  where 
the  intimate  life  of  the  last  royal  family  had  been 
lived.  I  looked  well  at  their  outer  guise,  but  could 
not  explore  them. 

The  groom  held  our  horses  in  the  street  that 
leads  up  to  the  Place  d'Armes,  and  as  we  sauntered 


WANDKRING  213 

back,  I  kicked  old  leaves  which  had  fallen  autumn 
after  autumn  and  banked  the  path. 

It  rushed  over  me  again! 

I  felt  my  arms  go  above  my  head  as  they  did 
when  I  sank  into  the  depths  of  recollection, 

"Lazarre!  Are  you  in  a  fit?"  The  Marquis  du 
Plessy  seized  me. 

"I  remember!  I  remember!  I  was  kicking  the 
leaves — I  was  walking  with  my  father  and  mother 
— somewhere — somewhere — and  something  threat 
ened  us!" 

"It  was  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,"  said  the 
Marquis  du  Plessy  sternly.  'The  mob  threatened 
you,  and  you  were  going  before  the  National 
Assembly!  I  walked  behind.  I  was  there  to  help 
defend  the  king." 

We  stood  still  until  the  paroxysmal  rending  in 
my  head  ceased.  Then  I  sat  on  the  grassy  road 
side  trying  to  smile  at  the  marquis,  and  shrugging 
an  apology  for  my  weakness.  The  beauty  of  the 
arched  trees  disappeared,  and  when  next  I  rec 
ognized  the  world  we  were  moving  slowly  toward 
Paris  in  a  heavy  carriage,  and  I  was  smitten  with 
the  conviction  that  my  friend  had  not  eaten  the 
dinner  he  ordered  in  the  town  of  Versailles. 

I  felt  ashamed  of  the  weakness  which  came  like 
an  eclipse,  and  withdrew  leaving  me  in  my  strength. 
It  ceased  to  visit  me  within  that  year,  and  has  never 
troubled  me  at  all  in  later  days.  Yet,  inconsistently, 
I  look  back  as  to  the  glamour  of  youth;  and 


214  1/AZARRB 

though  it  worked  me  hurt  and  shame,  I  half  regret 
that  it  is  gone. 

The  more  I  saw  of  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  the 
more  my  slow  tenacious  heart  took  hold  on  him. 
We  went  about  everywhere  together.  I  think  it 
was  his  hope  to  wed  me  to  his  company  and  to 
Paris,  and  shove  the  Mittau  venture  into  an  indefi 
nite  future;  yet  he  spared  no  pains  in  obtaining 
for  me  my  passports  to  Courland. 

At  this  time,  with  cautious,  half  reluctant  hand, 
he  raised  the  veil  from  a  phase  of  life  which  aston 
ished  and  revolted  me.  I  loved  a  woman.  The 
painted  semblances  of  women  who  inhabited  a 
world  of  sensation  had  no  effect  upon  me. 

"You  are  wonderfully  fresh,  Lazarre,"  the  mar 
quis  said.  "If  you  were  not  so  big  and  male  I 
would  call  you  mademoiselle!  Did  they  never  sin 
in  the  American  backwoods?" 

Then  he  took  me  in  his  arms  like  a  mother,  and 
kissed  me,  saying,  "Dear  son  and  sire,  I  am  worse 
than  your  great-grandfather!" 

Yet  my  zest  for  the  gaiety  of  the  old  city  grew 
as  much  as  he  desired.  The  golden  dome  of  the 
Invalides  became  my  bubble  of  Paris,  floating  un 
der  a  sunny  sky. 

Whenever  I  went  to  the  hotel  which  De  Chau- 
mont  had  hired  near  the  Tuileries,  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier  received  me  kindly;  having  always  with  her 
Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  or  Miss  Chantry,  so 
that  we  never  had  a  word  in  private.  I  thought 
she  might  have  shown  a  little  feeling  in  her  rebuff, 


NDKRINQ  215 

and  pondered  on  her  point  of  view  regarding  my 
secret  rank.  De  Chaumont,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
beneath  her  iu  everything  but  wealth.  How  might 
she  regard  stooping  to  him? 

Miss  Chantry  was  divided  between  enforced  def 
erence  and  a  Saxon  necessity  to  tell  me  I  would 
not  last.  I  saw  she  considered  me  one  of  the 
upstarts  of  the  Empire,  singularly  favored  above 
her  brother,  but  under  my  finery  the  same  French 
savage  she  had  known  in  America. 

Eagle  brought  Paul  to  me,  and  he  toddled  across 
the  floor,  looked  at  me  wisely,  and  then  climbed 
my  knee. 

Doctor  Chantry  had  been  living  in  Paris  a  life 
above  his  dreams  of  luxury.  When  occasionally  I 
met  my  secretary  he  was  about  to  drive  out;  or  he 
was  returning  from  De  Chaumont's  hotel.  And 
there  I  caught  my  poor  master  reciting  poems  to 
Annabel,  who  laughed  and  yawned,  and  made  faces 
behind  her  fan.  I  am  afraid  he  drew  on  the  marquis' 
oldest  wines,  finding  indulgence  in  the  house;  and 
he  sent  extravagant  bills  to  me  for  gloves  and  lawn 
cravats.  It  was  fortunate  that  De  Chaumont  took 
him  during  my  absence.  He  moved  his  belongings 
with  positive  rapture.  The  marquis  and  I  both 
thought  it  prudent  not  to  publish  my  journey. 

Doctor  Chantry  went  simpering,  and  abasing 
himself  before  the  French  noble  with  the  complete 
subservience  of  a  Saxon  when  a  Saxon  does  be 
come  subservient. 

-The  fool  is  laughable,"  said  the  Marquis  du 


216 


Plessy.  "Get  rid  of  him,  Lazarre.  He  is  fit  for 
nothing  but  hanging  upon  some  one  who  will  feed 
him." 

"He  is  my  master,"  I  answered.    "I  am  a  fool 
myself." 

"You  will  come  back  from  Mittau  convinced  of 
that,  my  boy.    The  wise  course  is  to  join  yourself 
to  events,  and  let  them  draw  your  chariot.     My 
dislikers  say  I  have  temporized  with  fate.     It  is 
true  I  am  not  so  righteous  as  to  smell  to  heaven. 
But  two  or  three  facts  have  been  deeply  impressed 
on  me.     There  is  nothing  more  aggressive  than 
the  virtue  of  an  ugly,  untempted  woman;    or  the 
determination  of  a  young  man  to  set  every  wrong 
thing  in  the  world  right.    He  cannot  wait,  and  take 
mellow  interest  in  what  goes  on  around  him,  but 
must  leap  into  the  ring.    You  could  live  here  with 
me  indefinitely,  while  the  nation  has  Bonaparte  like 
the  measles.    When  the  disease  has  run  its  course 
—  we  may  be  able  to  bring  evidence  which  will 
make  it  unnecessary  for  the  Count  of  Provence 
to  hasten  here  that  France  may  have  a  king." 
"I  want  to  see  my  sister,  monsieur." 
"And  lose  her  and  your  own  cause  forever." 
But  he  helped  me  to  hire  a    strong   traveling 
chaise,  and  stock  it  with  such  comforts  as  it  would 
bear.    He  also  turned  my  property  over  to  me,  rec 
ommending  that  I  should  not  take  it  into  Russia. 
Half  the  jewels,  at  least,  I  considered  the  property 
of  the  princess  in  Mittau;   but  his  precaution  in 
fluenced  me  to  leave  three  bags  of  coin  in  Doctor 


WANDKRING  217 

Chantry's  care ;  for  Doctor  Chantry  was  the  soul  of 
thrift  with  his  own ;  and  to  send  Skenedonk  with  the 
jewel-case  to  the  marquis'  bank.  The  cautious 
Oneida  took  counsel  of  himself  and  hid  it  in  the 
chaise.  He  told  me  when  we  were  three  days  out. 
It  is  as  true  that  you  are  driven  to  do  some  things 
as  that  you  can  never  entirely  free  yourself  from 
any  life  you  have  lived.  That  sunny  existence  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  the  morning  and  even 
ing  talks  with  a  man  who  bound  me  to  him  as 
no  other  man  has  since  bound  me,  were  too  dear  to 
leave  even  briefly  without  wrenching  pain.  I 
dreamed  nightly  of  robbers  and  disaster,  of  being 
ignominiously  thrust  out  of  Mittau,  of  seeing  a 
woman  whose  face  was  a  blur  and  who  moved 
backward  from  me  when  I  called  her  my  sister; 
of  troops  marching  across  and  trampling  me  into 
the  earth  as  straw.  I  groaned  in  spirit.  Yet  to 
Mittau  I  was  spurred  by  the  kind  of  force  that 
seems  to  press  from  unseen  distances,  and  is  as  fatal 
as  temperament. 

When  I  paid  my  last  visit  at  De  Chaumont's 
hotel,  and  said  I  was  going  into  the  country,  Eagle 
looked  concerned,  as  a  De  Ferrier  should;  but  she 
did  not  turn  her  head  to  follow  my  departure.  The 
game  of  man  and  woman  was  in  its  most  blindfold 
state  between  us. 

There  was  one,  however,  who  watched  me  out 
of  sight.  The  marquis  was  more  agitated  than  I 
liked  to  see  him.  He  took  snuff  with  a  constant 
click  of  the  lid. 


2i8  "L,  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

The  hills  of  Champagne,  green  with  vines,  and 
white  as  with  an  underlay  of  chalk,  rose  behind 
us.  We  crossed  the  frontier,  and  German  hills 
took  their  places,  with  a  castle  topping  each.  I  was 
at  the  time  of  life  when  interest  stretches  eagerly 
toward  every  object;  and  though  this  journey 
cannot  be  set  down  in  a  story  as  long  as  mine,  the 
novelty — even  the  risks,  mischances  and  weari 
nesses  of  continual  post  travel,  come  back  like  an 
invigorating  breath  of  salt  water. 

The  usual  route  carried  us  eastward  to  Cracow, 
the  old  capital  of  Poland,  scattered  in  ruined  grand 
eur  within  its  brick  walls.  Beyond  it  I  remember  a 
stronghold  of  the  Middle  Ages  called  the  fortress 
of  Landskron. 

The  peasants  of  this  country,  men  in  shirts  and 
drawers  of  coarse  linen,  and  women  with  braided 
hair  hanging  down  under  linen  veils,  stopped  their 
carts  as  soon  as  a  post-carriage  rushed  into  sight, 
and  bent  almost  to  the  earth.  At  post-houses  the 
servants  abased  themselves  to  take  me  by  the  heel. 
In  no  other  country  was  the  spirit  of  man  so 
broken.  Poles  of  high  birth  are  called  the  French 
men  of  the  north,  and  we  saw  fair  men  and  women 
in  sumptuous  polonaises  and  long  robes  who  ap 
peared  luxurious  in  their  traveling  carriages.  But 
stillness  and  solitude  brooded  on  the  land.  From 
Cracow  to  Warsaw  wide  reaches  of  forest  darkened 
the  level.  Any  open  circle  was  belted  around  the 
horizon  with  woods,  pines,  firs,  beech,  birch,  and 
small  oaks.  Few  cattle  fed  on  the  pastures,  and 


W  A  N  D  K  R  I  N  G  219 

stunted  crops  of  grain  ripened  in  the  melancholy 
light. 

From  Cracow  to  Warsaw  is  a  distance  of  one 
hundred  and  thirty  leagues,  if  the  postilion  lied  not, 
yet  on  that  road  we  met  but  two  carriages  and  not 
more  than  a  dozen  carts.  Scattering  wooden  vil 
lages,  each  a  line  of  hovels,  appeared  at  long  inter 
vals. 

Post-houses  were  kept  by  Jews,  who  fed  us  in 
the  rooms  where  their  families  lived.  Milk  and 
eggs  they  had  none  to  offer  us;  and  their  beds 
were  piles  of  straw  on  the  ground,  seldom  clean, 
never  untenanted  by  fleas. 

Beggars  ran  beside  us  on  the  wretched  roads  as 
neglected  as  themselves.  Where  our  horses  did 
not  labor  through  sand,  the  marshy  ground  was 
paved  with  sticks  and  boughs,  or  the  surface  was 
built  up  with  trunks  of  trees  laid  crosswise. 

In  spacious,  ill-paved  Warsaw,  through  which 
the  great  Vistula  flows,  we  rested  two  days.  I  knelt 
with  confused  thoughts,  trying  to  pray  in  the 
Gothic  cathedral.  We  walked  past  it  into  the  old 
town,  of  high  houses  and  narrow  streets,  like  a 
part  of  Paris. 

In  Lithuania  the  roads  were  paths  winding 
through  forests  full  of  stumps  and  roots.  The  car 
riage  hardly  squeezed  along,  and  eight  little  horses 
attached  to  it  in  the  Polish  way  had  much  ado  to 
draw  us.  The  postilions  were  young  boys  in  coarse 
linen,  hardy  as  cattle,  who  rode  bare-back  league 
upon  league. 


220  Iv  A  Z  .A  R  R  K 

Old  bridges  cracked  and  sagged  when  we  crossed 
them.  And  here  the  forests  rose  scorched  and  black 
in  spots,  because  the  peasants,  bound  to  pay  their 
lords  turpentine,  fired  pines  and  caught  the  heated 
ooze. 

Within  the  proper  boundary  of  Russia  out  way 
was  no  better.  There  we  saw  queer  projections  of 
boards  around  trees  to  keep  bears  from  climbing 
after  the  hunters. 

The  Lithuanian  peasants  had  few  wants.  Their 
carts  were  put  together  without  nails.  Their  bridles 
and  traces  were  made  of  bark.  They  had  no  tools 
but  hatchets.  A  sheepskin  coat  and  round  felt 
cap  kept  a  man  warm  in  cold  weather.  His  shoes 
were  made  of  bark,  and  his  home  of  logs  with  pent 
house  roof. 

In  houses  where  travelers  slept  the  candles  were 
laths  of  deal,  about  five  feet  long,  stuck  into  crev 
ices  of  the  wall  or  hung  over  tables.  Our  hosts 
carried  them  about,  dropping  unheeded  sparks 
upon  the  straw  beds. 

In  Grodno,  a  town  of  falling  houses  and  ruined 
palaces,  we  rested  again  before  turning  directly 
north. 

There  my  heart  began  to  sink.  We  had  spent 
four  weeks  on  a  comfortless  road,  working  always 
toward  the  goal.  It  was  nearly  won.  A  speech  of 
my  friend  the  marquis  struck  itself  out  sharply  in 
the  northern  light. 

"You  are  not  the  only  Pretender,  my  dear  boy. 
Don't  go  to  Mittau  expecting  to  be  hailed  as  a 


WANDERING  221 

novelty.  At  least  two  peasants  have  started  up 
claiming  to  be  the  prince  who  did  not  die  in  the 
Temple,  and  have  been  cast  down  again,  complain 
ing  of  the  treatment  of  their  dear  sister!  The  Count 
d'Artois  says  he  would  rather  saw  wood  for  a  liv 
ing  than  be  king  after  the  English  fashion.  I  would 
rather  be  the  worthless  old  fellow  I  am  than  be 
king  after  the  Mittau  fashion;  especially  when  his 
Majesty,  Louis  XVIII,  sees  you  coming  I" 


IX 


PURPOSELY  we  entered  Mittau  about  sun 
set,  which  was  nearer  ten  o'clock  than  nine 
in  that  northern  land ;  coming  through  wheat  lands 
to  where  a  network  of  streams  forms  the  river  Aa. 
In  this  broad  lap  of  the  province  of  Courland  sat 
Mittau.  Yelgava  it  was  called  by  the  people  among 
whom  we  last  posted,  and  they  pronounced  the 
word  as  if  naming  something  as  great  as  Paris. 

It  was  already  July,  St.  John's  day  being  two 
weeks  gone;  yet  the  echoes  of  its  markets  and 
feastings  lingered.  The  word  "Johanni"  smote 
even  an  ear  deaf  to  the  language.  It  was  like  a 
dissolving  fair. 

"You  are  too  late  for  Johanni,"  said  the  German 
who  kept  the  house  for  travelers,  speaking  the  kind 
of  French  we  heard  in  Poland.  "Perhap  it  is  just 
as  well  for  you.  This  Johanni  has  nearly  ruined 
me!" 

Yet  he  showed  a  disposition  to  hire  my  singular 
servant  from  me  at  a  good  wage,  walking  around 
and  around  Skenedonk,  who  bore  the  scrutiny  like 
a  pine  tree. 

The  Oneida  enjoyed  his  travels.  It  was  easy  for 
him  to  conform  to  the  thoughts  and  habits  of  Eu 
rope.  We  had  not  talked  about  the  venture  into 
Russia.  He  simply  followed  me  where  I  went 

222 


NDKRIKO  223 

without  asking  questions,  proving  himself  faithful 
friend  and  liberal  minded  gentleman. 

We  supped  privately,  and  I  dressed  with  care. 
Horses  were  put  in  for  our  last  short  post  of  a  few 
streets.  We  had  suffered  such  wretched  quarters 
on  the  way  that  the  German  guest-house  spread 
itself  commodiously.  Yet  its  walls  were  the  flim 
siest  slabs.  I  heard  some  animal  scratching  and 
whining  in  the  next  chamber.  On  the  post-road, 
however,  we  had  not  always  a  wall  betwixt  our 
selves  and  the  dogs. 

The  palace  in  Mittau  stood  conspicuous  upon  an 
island  in  the  river.  As  we  approached,  it  looked 
not  unlike  a  copy  of  Versailles.  The  pile  was  by 
no  means  brilliant  with  lights,  as  the  court  of  a 
king  might  glitter,  finding  reflection  upon  the 
stream.  We  drove  with  a  clatter  upon  the  paving, 
and  a  sentinel  challenged  us. 

I  had  thought  of  how  I  should  obtain  access  to 
this  secluded  royal  family,  and  Skenedonk  was 
ready  with  the  queen's  jewel-case  in  his  hands.  Not 
on  any  account  was  he  to  let  it  go  out  of  them  until 
I  took  it  and  applied  the  key ;  but  gaining  audience 
with  Madame  d'Angouleme,  he  was  to  tell  her  that 
the  bearer  of  that  casket  had  traveled  far  to  see  her, 
and  waited  outside. 

Under  guard  the  Oneida  had  the  great  doors 
shut  behind  him.  The  wisdom  of  my  plan  looked 
less  conspicuous  as  time  went  by.  The  palace 
loomed  silent,  without  any  cheer  of  courtiers.  The 
horses  shook  their  straps,  and  the  postilion  hung 


224  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

lazily  by  one  leg,  his  figure  distinct  against  the  low 
horizon  still  lighted  by  after-glow.  Some  Mittau 
noises  came  across  the  Aa,  the  rumble  of  wheels, 
and  a  barking  of  dogs. 

When  apprehension  began  to  pinch  my  heart 
of  losing  my  servant  and  my  whole  fortune  in  the 
abode  of  honest  royal  people,  and  I  felt  myself  but 
a  poor  outcast  come  to  seek  a  princess  for  my  sis 
ter,  a  guard  stood  by  the  carriage,  touching  his  cap, 
and  asked  me  to  follow  him. 

We  ascended  the  broad  steps.  He  gave  the  pass 
word  to  a  sentinel  there,  and  held  wide  one  leaf  of 
the  door.  He  took  a  candle;  and  otherwise  dark 
corridors  and  ante-chambers,  somber  with  heavy 
Russian  furnishings,  rugs  hung  against  the  walls, 
barbaric  brazen  vessels  and  curious  vases,  passed 
like  a  half-seen  vision. 

Then  the  guard  delivered  me  to  a  gentleman  in 
a  blue  coat,  with  a  red  collar,  who  belonged  to  the 
period  of  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  without  being 
adorned  by  his  whiteness  and  lace.  The  gentleman 
staring  at  me,  strangely  polite  and  full  of  suspicion, 
conducted  me  into  a  well-lighted  room  where 
Skenedonk  waited  by  the  farther  door,  holding  the 
jewel-case  as  tenaciously  as  he  would  a  scalp. 

I  entered  the  farther  door.    It  closed  behind  me. 

A  girl  stood  in  the  center  of  this  inner  room, 
looking  at  me.  I  remember  none  of  its  fittings, 
except  that  there  was  abundant  light,  showing  her 
clear  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair,  the  transparency  of 
her  skin,  and  her  high  expression.  She  was  all 


W  A.  N  D  K  R  I  N  G  225 

in  black,  except  a  floating  muslin  cape  or  fichu, 
making  a  beholder  despise  the  finery  of  the  Em 
pire. 

We  must  have  examined  each  other  even  sternly, 
though  I  felt  a  sudden  giving  way  and  heaving  in 
my  breast.  She  was  so  high,  so  sincere!  If  I  had 
been  unfit  to  meet  the  eyes  of  that  princess  I  must 
have  shriveled  before  her. 

From  side  to  side  her  figure  swayed,  and  another 
young  girl,  the  only  attendant  in  the  room, 
stretched  out  both  arms  to  catch  her. 

We  put  her  on  a  couch,  and  she  sat  gasping, 
supported  by  the  lady  in  waiting.  Then  the  tears 
ran  down  her  face,  and  I  kissed  the  transparent 
hands,  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  I  believed  that 
hour  as  I  believe  to  this. 

"O  Louis— Louis!" 

The  wonder  of  her  knowledge  and  acceptance  of 
me,  without  a  claim  being  put  forward,  was  around 
me  like  a  cloud. 

"You  were  so  like  my  father  as  you  stood  there 
— I  could  see  him  again  as  he  parted  from  us !  What 
miracle  has  restored  you?  How  did  you  find  your 
way  here?  You  are  surely  Louis?" 

I  sat  down  beside  her,  keeping  one  hand  between 
mine. 

"Madame,  I  believe  as  you  believe,  that  I  am 
Louis  Charles,  the  dauphin  of  France.  And  I 
have  come  to  you  first,  as  my  own  flesh  and  blood, 
who  must  have  more  knowledge  and  recollection  of 
things  past  than  I  myself  can  have.  I  have  not 


226  I^  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

long  been  waked  out  of  the  tranced  life  I  formerly 
lived." 

"I  have  wept  more  tears  for  the  little  brother — 
broken  in  intellect  and  exiled  farther  than  we — 
than  for  my  father  and  mother.  They  were  at 
peace.  But  you,  poor  child,  what  hope  was  there 
for  you?  Was  the  person  who  had  you  in  his 
charge  kind  to  you?  He  must  have  been.  You 
have  grown  to  be  such  a  man  as  I  would  have  you!" 

"Everybody  has  been  kind  to  me,  my  sister." 

"Could  they  look  in  that  face  and  be  unkind?  All 
the  thousand  questions  I  have  to  ask  must  be  de 
ferred  until  the  king  sees  you.  I  cannot  wait  for 
him  to  see  you!  Mademoiselle  de  Choisy,  send  a 
message  at  once  to  the  king!" 

The  lady  in  waiting  withdrew  to  the  door,  and 
the  royal  duchess  quivered  with  eager  anticipation. 

"We  have  had  pretended  dauphins,  to  add  insult 
to  exile.  You  may  not  take  the  king  unaware  as 
you  took  me!  He  will  have  proofs  as  plain  as  his 
Latin  verse.  But  you  will  find  his  Majesty  all  that 
a  father  could  be  to  us,  Louis !  I  think  there  never 
was  a  man  so  unselfish! — except,  indeed,  my  hus 
band,  whom  you  cannot  see  until  he  returns." 

Again  I  kissed  my  sister's  hand.  We  gazed  at 
each  other,  our  different  breeding  still  making 
strangeness  between  us,  across  which  I  yearned, 
and  she  examined  me. 

Many  a  time  since  I  have  reproached  myself  for 
not  improving  those  moments  with  the  most  can 
did  and  right-minded  princess  in  Europe,  by  fore- 


WAlslDKRINQ  227 

stalling  my  enemies.  I  should  have  told  her  of  my 
weakness  instead  of  sunning  my  strength  in  the 
love  of  her.  I  should  have  made  her  see  my  actual 
position,  and  the  natural  antagonism  of  the  king, 
who  would  not  so  readily  see  a  strong  personal 
resemblance  when  that  was  not  emphasized  by  some 
mental  stress,  as  she  and  three  very  different  men 
had  seen  it. 

Instead  of  making  cause  with  her,  however,  I 
said  over  and  over — "Marie-Therese!  Marie- 
Therese!" — like  a  homesick  boy  come  again  to 
some  familiar  presence.  "You  are  the  only  one  of 
my  family  I  have  seen  since  waking;  except  Louis 
Philippe." 

"Don't  speak  of  that  man,  Louis!  I  detest  the 
house  of  Orleans  as  a  Christian  should  detest  only 
sin!  His  father  doomed  ours  to  death!" 

"But  he  is  not  to  blame  for  what  his  father  did." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  waking?" 

"Coming  to  my  senses." 

"All  that  we  shall  hear  about  when  the  king  sees 
you." 

"I  knew  your  picture  on  the  snuffbox." 

"What  snuffbox?" 

"The  one  in  the  queen's  jewel-case." 

"Where  did  you  find  that  jewel-case?" 

"Do  you  remember  the  Marquis  du  Plessy?" 

"Yes.  A  lukewarm  loyalist,  if  loyalist  at  all  in 
these  times." 

"My  best  friend." 

"I  will  say  for  him  that  he  was  not  among  the  first 


228  ^  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

emigres.  If  the  first  emigres  had  stayed  at  home 
and  helped  their  king,  they  might  have  prevented 
the  Terror." 

"The  Marquis  du  Plessy  stayed  after  the  Tui- 
leries  was  sacked.  He  found  the  queen's  jewel-case, 
and  saved  it  from  confiscation  to  the  state." 

''Where  did  he  find  it?  Did  you  recognize  the 
faces?" 

"Oh,  instantly!" 

The  door  opened,  deferring  any  story,  for  that 
noble  usher  who  had  brought  me  to  the  presence 
of  Marie-Therese  stood  there,  ready  to  conduct  us 
to  the  king. 

My  sister  rose  and  I  led  her  by  the  hand,  she 
going  confidently  to  return  the  dauphin  to  his  fam 
ily,  and  the  dauphin  going  like  a  fool.  Seeing  Sken- 
edonk  standing  by  the  door,  I  must  stop  and  fit 
the  key  to  the  lock  of  the  queen's  casket,  and  throw 
the  lid  back  to  show  her  proofs  given  me  by  one 
who  believed  in  me  in  spite  of  himself.  The  snuff 
box  and  two  bags  of  coin  were  gone,  I  saw  with  con 
sternation,  but  the  princess  recognized  so  many 
things  that  she  missed  nothing,  controlling  herself 
as  her  touch  moved  from  trinket  to  trinket  that  her 
mother  had  worn. 

"Bring  this  before  the  king,"  she  said.  And  we 
took  it  with  us,  the  noble  in  blue  coat  and  red  collar 
carrying  it. 

"His  Majesty,"  Marie-Therese  told  me  as  we 
passed  along  a  corridor,  "tries  to  preserve  the  eti 
quette  of  a  court  in  our  exile.  But  we  are  paupers, 


NDKRING  229 

Louis.  And  mocking  our  poverty,  Bonaparte 
makes  overtures  to  him  to  sell  the  right  of  the  Bour 
bons  to  the  throne  of  France!" 

She  had  not  yet  adjusted  her  mind  to  the  fact 
that  Louis  XVIII  was  no  longer  the  one  to  be 
treated  with  by  Bonaparte  or  any  other  potentate, 
and  the  pretender  leading  her  smiled  like  the  boy 
of  twenty  that  he  was. 

"Napoleon  can  have  no  peace  while  a  Bourbon  in 
the  line  of  succession  lives." 

"Oh,  remember  the  Duke  d'Enghien!"  she  whis 
pered. 

Then  the  door  of  a  lofty  but  narrow  cabinet, 
lighted  with  many  candles,  was  opened,  and  I  saw 
at  the  farther  end  a  portly  gentleman  seated  in  an 
arm-chair. 

A  few  gentlemen  and  two  ladies  in  waiting,  be 
sides  Mademoiselle  de  Choisy,  attended. 

Louis  XVIII  rose  from  his  seat  as  my  sister 
made  a  deep  obeisance  to  him,  and  took  her  hand 
and  kissed  it.  At  once,  moved  by  some  singular 
maternal  impulse,  perhaps,  for  she  was  half  a  dozen 
years  my  senior,  as  a  mother  would  whimsically 
decorate  her  child,  Marie-Therese  took  the  half 
circlet  of  gems  from  the  casket,  reached  up,  and  set 
it  gn  my  head. 

For  an  instant  I  was  crowned  in  Mittau,  with 
my  mother's  tiara. 

I  saw  the  king's  features  turn  to  granite,  and  a 
dark  red  stain  show  on  his  jaws  like  coloring  on 
stone.  The  most  benevolent  men,  and  by  all  his 


230  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

traits  he  was  one  of  the  most  benevolent,  have  their 
pitiless  moments.  He  must  have  been  prepared  to 
combat  a  pretender  before  I  entered  the  room. 
But  outraged  majesty  would  now  take  its  full  ven 
geance  on  me  for  the  unconsidered  act  of  the  child 
he  loved. 

"First  two  peasants,  Hervagault  and  Bruneau, 
neither  of  whom  had  the  audacity  to  steal  into  the 
confidence  of  the  tenderest  princess  in  Europe  with 
the  tokens  she  must  recognize,  or  to  penetrate  into 
the  presence,"  spoke  the  king:  "and  now  an  escaped 
convict  from  Ste.  Pelagic,  a  dandy  from  the  Em 
pire!" 

I  was  only  twenty,  and  he  stung  me. 

"Your  royal  highness,"  I  said,  speaking  as  I 
believed  within  my  rights,  "my  sister  tries  to  put 
a  good  front  on  my  intrusion  into  Mittau." 

I  took  the  coronet  from  my  head  and  gave  it 
again  to  the  hand  which  had  crowned  me.  Marie- 
Therese  let  it  fall,  and  it  rocked  near  the  feet  of  the 
king. 

"Your  sister,  monsieur!  What  right  have  you 
to  call  Madame  d'Angouleme  your  sister!" 

"The  same  right,  monsieur,  that  you  have  to  call 
her  your  niece." 

The  features  of  the  princess  became  pinched  and 
sharpened  under  the  softness  of  her  fair  hair. 

"Sire,  if  this  is  not  my  brother,  who  is  he?" 

Louis  XVIII  may  have  been  tender  to  her  every 
other  moment  of  his  life,  but  he  was  hard  then,  and 


WANDKRIHQ  231 

looked  beyond  her  toward  the  door,  making  a  sign 
with  his  hand. 

That  strange  sympathy  which  works  in  me  for 
my  opponent,  put  his  outraged  dignity  before  me 
rather  than  my  own  wrong.  Deeper,  more  sick 
ening  than  death,  the  first  faintness  of  self-distrust 
came  over  me.  What  if  my  half-memories  were 
unfounded  hallucinations?  What  if  my  friend 
Louis  Philippe  had  made  a  tool  of  me,  to  annoy  this 
older  Bourbon  branch  that  detested  him?  What 
if  Bellenger's  recognition,  and  the  Marquis  du 
Plessy's,  and  Marie-Therese's,  went  for  nothing? 
What  if  some  other,,  and  not  this  angry  man,  had 
sent  the  money  to  America — 

The  door  opened  again.  We  turned  our  heads, 
and  I  grew  hot  at  the  cruelty  which  put  that  idiot 
before  my  sister's  eyes.  He  ran  on  all  fours,  his 
gaunt  wrists  exposed,  until  Bellenger,  advancing 
behind,  took  him  by  the  arm  and  made  him  stand 
erect.  It  was  this  poor  creature  I  had  heard  scratch 
ing  on  the  other  side  of  the  inn-  wall. 

How  long  Bellenger  had  been  beforehand  with 
me  in  Mittau  I  could  not  guess.  But  when  I  saw 
the  scoundrel  who  had  laid  me  in  Ste.  Pelagie,  and 
doubtless  dropped  me  in  the  Seine,  ready  to  do  me 
more  mischief,  smug  and  smooth  shaven,  and  fine 
in  the  red-collared  blue  coat  which  seemed  to  be 
the  prescribed  uniform  of  that  court,  all  my  confi 
dence  returned.  I  was  Louis  of  France.  I  could 
laugh  at  anything  he  had  to  say. 

Behind  him  entered  a  priest,  who  advanced  up 


Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

the  room,  and  made  obeisance  to  the  king,  as  Bei- 
lenger  did. 

Madame  d'Angouleme  looked  once  at  the  idiot, 
and  hid  her  eyes:  the  king  protecting  her.  I  said 
to  myself, 

"It  will  soon  be  against  my  breast,  not  yours,  that 
she  hides  her  face,  my  excellent  uncle  of  Prov 
ence!" 

Yet  he  was  as  sincere  a  man  as  ever  said  to  wit 
nesses, 

"We  shall  now  hear  the  truth." 

The  few  courtiers,  enduring  with  hardiness  a 
sight  which  they  perhaps  had  seen  before  though 
Madame  d'Angouleme  had  not,  made  a  rustle 
among  themselves  as  if  echoing, 

"Yes,  now  we  shall  hear  the  truth!" 

The  king  again1  kissed  my  sister's  hand,  and 
placed  her  in  a  seat  beside  his  arm-chair,  which  he 
resumed. 

"Monsieur  the  Abbe  Edgeworth,"  he  said,  "hav 
ing  stood  on  the  scaffold  with  our  martyred  sov 
ereign,  as  priest  and  comforter,  is  eminently  the 
one  to  conduct  an  examination  like  this,  which 
touches  matters  of  conscience.  We  leave  it  in  his 
hands." 

Abbe  Edgeworth,  fine  and  sweet  of  presence, 
stood  by  the  king,  facing  Bellenger  and  the  idiot. 
That  poor  creature,  astonished  by  his  environment, 
gazed  at  the  high  room  corners,  or  smiled  experi 
mentally  at  the  courtiers,  stretching  his  cracked 
lips  over  darkened  fangs. 


W  A  N  E>  K  R  I  N  Q  233 

"You  are  admitted  here,  Bellenger,"  said  the 
priest,  "to  answer  his  Majesty's  questions  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses." 

"I  thank  his  Majesty,' '  said  Bellenger. 

The  abbe  began  as  if  the  idiot  attracted  his  notice 
for  the  first  time. 

"Who  is  the  unfortunate  child  you  hold  with 
your  right  hand?" 

"The  dauphin  of  France,  monsieur  the  abbe," 
spoke  out  Bellenger,  his  left  hand  on  his  hip. 

"What!  Take  care  what  you  say!  How  do  you 
know  that  the  dauphin  of  France  is  yet  among  the 
living?" 

Bellenger's  countenance  changed,  and  he  took  his 
hand  off  his  hip  and  let  it  hang  down. 

"I  received  the  prince,  monsieur,  from  those  who 
took  him  out  of  the  Temple  prison." 

"And  you  never  exchanged  him  for  another  per 
son,  or  allowed  him  to  be  separated  from  you?" 

Bellenger  swore  with  ghastly  lips — "Never,  on 
my  hopes  of  salvation,  monsieur  the  abbe !" 

"Admitting  that  somebody  gave  you  this  child  to 
keep — by  the  way,  how  old  is  he?" 

"About  twenty  years,  monsieur." 

"What  right  had  you  to  assume  he  was  the 
dauphin?" 

"I  had  received  a  yearly  pension,  monsieur,  from 
his  Majesty  himself,  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
prince." 

"You  received  the  yearly  pension  through  my 
hand,  acting  as  his  Majesty's  almoner.  His  Majesty 


234  1^  A  Z  A  R  R  E; 

was  ever  too  bountiful  to  the  unfortunate.  He  has 
many  dependents.  Where  have  you  lived  with  your 
charge?" 

"We  lived  in  America,  sometimes  in  the  woodst 
and  sometimes  in  towns." 

"Has  he  ever  shown  hopeful  signs  of  recovering 
his  reason?" 

"Never,  monsieur  the  abbe." 

Having  touched  thus  lightly  on  the  case  of  the 
idiot,  Abbe  Edgeworth  turned  to  me. 

The  king's  face  retained  its  granite  hardness. 
But  Bellenger's  passed  from  shade  to  shade  of 
baffled  confidence;  recovering  only  when  the  priest 
said, 

"Now  look  at  this  young  man.  Have  you  ever 
seen  him  before?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  I  have;  both  in  the  American 
woods,  and  in  Paris." 

"What  was  he  doing  in  the  American  woods?" 

"Living  on  the  bounty  of  one  Count  de  Chau- 
mont,  a  friend  of  Bonaparte's." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"A  French  half-breed,  brought  up  among  the 
Indians." 

"What  name  does  he  bear?" 

"He  is  called  Lazarre." 

"But  why  is  a  French  half-breed  named  Lazarre 
attempting  to  force  himself  on  the  exiled  court  here 
in  Mittau?" 

"People  have  told  him  that  he  resembles  the 
Bourbons,  monsieur." 


\VANDKRING  235 

"Was  he  encouraged  in  this  idea  by  the  friend  of 
Bonaparte  whom  you  mentioned?" 

"I  think  not,  monsieur  the  abbe.  But  I  heard  a 
Frenchman  tell  him  he  was  like  the  martyred  king, 
and  since  that  hour  he  has  presumed  to  consider 
himself  the  dauphin." 

"Who  was  this  Frenchman?" 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans,  Louis  Philippe  de  Bour 
bon,  monsieur  the  abbe." 

There  was  an  expressive  movement  among  the 
courtiers. 

"Was  Louis  Philippe  instrumental  in  sending  him 
to  France?" 

"He  was.  He  procured  shipping  for  the  pre 
tender." 

"When  the  pretender  reached  Paris,  what  did 
he  do?" 

"He  attempted  robbery,  and  was  taken  in  the  act 
and  thrown  into  Ste.  Pelagie.  I  saw  him  arrested." 

"What  were  you  doing  in  Paris?" 

"I  was  following  and  watching  this  dangerous 
pretender,  monsieur  the  abbe." 

"Did  you  leave  America  when  he  did?" 

"The  evening  before,  monsieur.  And  we  out 
sailed  him." 

"Did  you  leave  Paris  when  he  did?" 

"Three  days  later,  monsieur.  But  we  passed  him 
,while  he  rested." 

"Why  do  you  call  such  an  insignificant  person  a 
dangerous  pretender?" 


236  t,  A.  Z  A.  R  R  H 

"He  is  not  insignificant,  monsieur:  as  you  will 
say,  when  you  hear  what  he  did  in  Paris." 

"He  was  thrown  into  the  prison  of  Ste.  Pelagic, 
you  told  me." 

"But  he  escaped,  by  choking  a  sacristan  so  that 
the  poor  man  will  long  bear  the  marks  on  his  throat. 
And  the  first  thing  I  knew  he  was  high  in  favor 
with  the  Marquis  du  Plessy,  and  Bonaparte  spoke 
to  him;  and  the  police  laughed  at  complaints 
lodged  against  him." 

"Who  lodged  complaints  against  him?" 

"I  did,  monsieur." 

"But  he  was  too  powerful  for  you  to  touch?" 

"He  was  well  protected,  monsieur  the  abbe.  He 
flaunted.  While  the  poor  prince  and  myself  suffered 
inconvenience  and  fared  hard — " 

"The  poor  prince,  you  say?" 

"We  never  had  a  fitting  allowance,  monsieur," 
Bellenger  declared  aggressively.  "Yet  with  little 
or  no  means  I  tried  to  bring  this  pretender  to  jus 
tice  and  defend  his  Majesty's  throne." 

"Pensioners  are  not  often  so  outspoken  in  their 
dissatisfaction,"  remarked  the  priest. 

I  laughed  as  I  thought  of  the  shifts  to  which  Bel 
lenger  must  have  been  put.  Abbe  Edgeworth  with 
merciless  dryness  inquired, 

"How  were  you  able  to  post  to  Mittau?" 

"I  borrowed  money  of  a  friend  in  Paris,  mon 
sieur,  trusting  that  his  Majesty  will  requite  me  for 
my  services." 

"But  why  was  it  necessary  for  you  to  post  to  Mit- 


WANDKRING  237 

tau,  where  this  pretender  would  certainly  meet  ex 
posure?" 

"Because  I  discovered  that  he  carried  with  him  a 
casket  of  the  martyred  queen's  jewels,  stolen  from 
the  Marquis  du  Plessy." 

"How  did  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  obtain  posses 
sion  of  the  queen's  jewels?" 

"That  I  do  not  know/' 

"But  the  jewels  are  the  lawful  property  of  Ma 
dame  d'Angouleme.  He  must  have  known  they 
would  be  seized." 

"I  thought  it  necessary  to  bring  my  evidence 
against  him,  monsieur." 

"There  was  little  danger  of  his  imposing  himself 
upon  the  court.  Yet  you  are  rather  to  be  com 
mended  than  censured,  Bellenger.  Did  this  pre 
tender  know  you  were  in  Paris?" 

"He  saw  me  there." 

"Many  times?" 

"At  least  twice,  monsieur  the  abbe." 

"Did  he  avoid  you?" 

"I  avoided  him.  I  took  pains  to  keep  him  from 
knowing  how  I  watched  him." 

"You  say  he  flaunted.  When  he  left  Paris  for 
Mittau  was  the  fact  generally  reported?" 

"No,  monsieur." 

"You  learned  it  yourself?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"But  he  must  have  known  you  would  pursue 
him." 

"He  left  with  great  secrecy,  monsieur  the  abbe." 


238  L,  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

It  was  given  out  that  he  was  merely  going  to  the 
country." 
"What  made  you  suspect  he  was  coming  to  Mit- 

tau?" 

"He  hired  a  strong  post-chaise  and  made  many 
preparations." 

"But  didn't  his  friend  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  dis 
cover  the  robbery?  Why  didn't  he  follow  and  take 
the  thief?" 

"Dead  men  don't  follow,  monsieur  the  abbe.  The 
Marquis  du  Plessy  had  a  duel  on  his  hands,  and  was 
killed  the  day  after  this  Lazarre  left  Paris." 

Of  all  Bellenger's  absurd  fabrications  this  story 
was  the  most  ridiculous.  I  laughed  again.  Madame 
d'Angouleme  took  her  hands  from  her  face  and  our 
eyes  met  one  instant,  but  the  idiot  whined  like  a 
dog.  She  shuddered,  and  covered  her  sight. 

The  priest  turned  from  Bellenger  to  me  with  a 
fair-minded  expression,  and  inquired, 

"What  have  you  to  say?" 

I  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  though  the  only  hearer 
I  expected  to  convince  was  my  sister.  If  she  be 
lieved  in  me  I  did  not  care  whether  the  others 
believed  or  not.  I  was  going  to  begin  with  Lake 
George,  the  mountain,  and  the  fog,  and  Bellen 
ger's  fear  of  me,  and  his  rage  when  Louis  Philippe 
told  him  the  larger  portion  of  the  money  sent  from 
Europe  was  given  to  me. 

Facing  Marie-Therese,  therefore,  insiead  of  the 
Abbe  Edgeworth,  I  spoke  her  name.  She  looked 


VV  A  N  3D  K  R  I  N  O 

up  once  more.    And  instead  of  being  in  Mittau,  I 
was  suddenly  on  a  balcony  at  Versailles! 

The  night  landscape,  chill  and  dim,  stretched  be 
yond  a  multitude  of  roaring  mouths,  coarse  lips, 
flaming  eyes,  illuminated  by  torches,  the  heads 
ornamented  with  a  three-colored  thing  stuck  into 
the  caps.  My  hand  stretched  out  for  support,  and 
met  the  tight  clip  of  my  mother's  fingers.  I  knew 
that  she  was  towering  between  Marie-Therese  and 
me  a  fearless  palpitating  statue.  The  devilish  roar 
ing  mob  shot  above  itself  a  forced,  admiring,  pierc 
ing  cry—  "Long  live  the  queen!"  Then  all  be 
came  the  humming  of  bees — the  vibration  of  a 
string — nothing! 


X. 


BLACKNESS  surrounded  the  post-carriage 
in  which  I  woke,  and  it  seemed  to  stand  in 
a  tunnel  that  was  afire  at  one  end.  Two  huge 
trees,  branches  and  all,  were  burning  on  a  big 
hearth,  stones  glowing  under  them;  and  figures 
with  long  beards,  in  black  robes,  passed  betwixt 
me  and  the  fire,  stirring  a  cauldron.  If  ever  witches' 
brewing  was  seen,  it  looked  like  that. 

The  last  eclipse  of  mind  had  come  upon  me  with 
out  any  rending  and  tearing  in  the  head,  and  facts 
returned  clearly  and  directly.  I  saw  the  black 
robed  figures  were  Jews  cooking  supper  at  a  large 
fireplace,  and  we  had  driven  upon  the  brick  floor 
of  a  post-house  which  had  a  door  nearly  the  size  of 
a  gable.  At  that  end  spread  a  ghostly  film  of  open 
land,  forest  and  sky.  I  lay  stretched  upon  cushions 
as  well  as  the  vehicle  would  permit,  and  was  aware 
by  a  shadow  which  came  between  me  and  the  Jews 
that  Skenedonk  stood  at  the  step. 

"What  are  you  about?"  I  spoke  with  a  rush  of 
chagrin,  sitting  up.  "Are  we  on  the  road  to  Paris?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,  Skenedonk!" 

"No  mistake/'  he  maintained.  "Wait  until  I 
bring  you  some  supper.  After  supper  we  can  talk. " 
240 


NDKRING  241 

"Bring  the  supper  at  once  then,  for  I  am 
going  to  talk  now/' 

"Are  you  quite  awake?" 

"Quite  awake.    How  long  did  it  last  this  time?" 

'Two  days  " 

"We  are  not  two  days*  journey  out  of  Mittau  ?'v 

"Yes." 

"Well,  when  you  have  horses  put  in  to-morrow 
morning,  turn  them  back  to  Mittau." 

Skenedonk  went  to  the  gigantic  hearth,  and  one 
of  the  Jews  ladled  him  out  a  bowlful  of  the  caul 
dron  stew,  which  he  brought  to  me. 

The  stuff  was  not  offensive  and  I  was  hungry. 
He  brought  another  bowlful  for  himself,  and  we 
ate  as  we  had  often  done  in  the  woods.  The  fire 
shone  on  his  bald  pate  and  gave  out  the  liquid  lights 
of  his  fawn  eyes. 

"I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself  in  Mittau,  Skene 
donk." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  go  back?" 

"Because  I  am  not  going  to  be  thrown  out  of 
the  palace  without  a  hearing." 

"What  is  the  use?"  said  Skenedonk.  "The  old 
fat  chief  will  not  let  you  stay.  He  doesn't  want  to 
hear  you  talk.  He  wants  to  be  king  himself/' 

"Did  you  see  me  sprawling  on  the  floor  like  the 
idiot?"  " 

"Not  like  the  idiot.    Your  face  was  down." 

"Did  you  see  the  duchess?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  she  do?" 


242  LA.ZARRK 

"Nothing.  She  leaned  on  the  women  and  they 
took  her  away." 

"Tell  me  all  you  saw." 

"When  you  went  in  to  hold  council,  I  watched, 
and  saw  a  priest  and  Bellenger  and  the  boy  that 
God  had  touched,  all  go  in  after  you.  So  I  knew 
the  council  would  be  bad  for  you,  Lazarre,  and  I 
stood  by  the  door  with  my  knife  in  my  hand.  When 
the  talk  had  gone  on  awhile  I  heard  something  like 
the  dropping  of  a  buck  on  the  ground,  and  sprang 
in,  and  the  men  drew  their  swords  and  the  women 
screamed.  The  priest  pointed  at  you  and  said,  'God 
has  smitten  the  pretender!'  Then  they  all  went  out 
of  the  room  except  the  priest,  and  we  opened  your 
collar.  I  told  him  you  had  fallen  like  that  before, 
and  the  stroke  passed  off  in  sleep.  He  said  your 
carriage  waited,  and  if  I  valued  your  safety  I  would 
put  you  in  it  and  take  you  out  of  Russia.  He  called 
servants  to  help  me  carry  you.  I  thought  about 
your  jewels;  but  some  drums  began  to  beat,  and  I 
thought  about  your  life!" 

"But,  Skenedonk,  didn't  my  sister — the  lady  I 
led  by  the  hand,  you  remember — speak  to  me 
again,  or  look  at  me,  or  try  to  revive  me?" 

"No.  She  went  away  with  the  women  carrying 
her." 

"She  believed  in  me — at  first!  Before  I  said  a 
word  she  knew  me!  She  wouldn't  leave  me  merely 
because  her  uncle  and  a  priest  thought  me  an  im 
postor!  She  is  the  tender est  creature  on  earth, 


WANDKRINQ 

Skenedonk— she  is  more  like  a  saint  than  a  wom 
an!" 

"Some  saints  on  the  altar  are  blind  and  deaf," 
observed  the  Oneida.  "I  think  she  was  sick." 

"I  have  nearly  killed  her!  And  I  have  been  tum 
bled  out  of  Mittau  as  a  pretender!" 

''You  are  here.  Get  some  men  to  fight,  and  we 
will  go  back." 

"What  a  stroke — to  lose  my  senses  at  the  mo 
ment  I  needed  them  most!" 

"You  kept  your  scalp." 

"And  not  much  else.  No!  If  you  refuse  to  fol 
low  me,  and  wait  here  at  this  post-house,  I  am 
going  back  to  Mittau!" 

"I  go  where  you  go,"  said  Skenedonk.  "But  best 
go  to  sleep  now." 

This  I  was  not  able  to  do  until  long  tossing  on 
the  thorns  of  chagrin  wore  me  out.  I  was  ashamed 
like  a  prodigal,  baffled,  and  hurt  to  the  bruising  of 
my  soul.  A  young  man's  chastened  confidence  in 
himself  is  hard  to  bear,  but  the  loss  of  what  was 
given  as  a  heritage  at  birth  is  an  injustice  not  to 
be  endured. 

The  throne  of  France  was  never  my  goal,  to  be 
reached  through  blood  and  revolution.  Perhaps 
the  democratic  notions  in  my  father's  breast  have 
found  wider  scope  in  mine.  I  wanted  to  influence 
men,  and  felt  even  at  that  time  that  I  could  do  it; 
tut  being  king  was  less  to  my  mind  than  being 
acknowledged  dauphin,  and  brother,  and  named 
with  my  real  name. 


244  IvAZARRB 

I  took  my  fists  in  my  hands  and  swore  to  force 
recognition,  if  I  battered  a  lifetime  on  Mittau. 

At  daylight  our  post-horses  were  put  to  the 
chaise  and  I  gave  the  postilion  orders  myself.  The 
little  fellow  bowed  himself  nearly  double,  and  said 
that  troops  were  moving  behind  us  to  join  the  allied 
forces  against  Napoleon. 

At  once  the  prospect  of  being  snared  among 
armies  and  cut  off  from  all  return  to  Paris,  appalled 
me  as  a  greater  present  calamity  than  being  cast 
out  of  Mittau.  Mittau  could  wait  for  another  expe 
dition. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.    'Take  the  road  to  France." 

We  met  August  rains.  We  were  bogged.  A 
bridge  broke  under  us.  We  dodged  Austrian 
troops.  It  seemed  even  then  a  fated  thing  that  a 
Frenchman  should  retreat  ignominiously  from 
Russia. 

There  is  a  devilish  antagonism  of  inanimate  and 
senseless  things,  begun  by  discord  in  ourselves, 
which  works  unreasonable  torture.  Our  return 
was  an  abominable  journal  which  I  will  not  recount} 
and  going  with  it  was  a  mortifying  facility  for  draw 
ing  opposing  forces. 

However,  I  knew  my  friend  the  marquis  expected 
me  to  return  defeated.  He  gave  me  my  opportu 
nity  as  a  child  is  indulged  with  a  dangerous  play 
thing,  to  teach  it  caution. 

He  would  be  in  his  chateau  of  Plessy,  cutting  off 
two  day*'  posting  to  Paris.  And  after  the  first 
sharp  pangs  of  chagrin  and  shame  at  losing  the 


WANDKRINO 

fortune  he  had  placed  in  my  hands,  I  looked  for 
ward  with  impatience  to  our  meeting. 

"We  have  nothing,  Skenedonk !"  I  exclaimed  the 
first  time  there  was  occasion  for  money  on  the  road. 
"How  have  you  been  able  to  post?  The  money 
and  the  jewel-case  are  gone." 

"We  have  two  bags  of  money  and  the  snuffbox," 
said  the  Oneida.  "I  hid  them  in  the  post-carriage." 

"But  I  had  the  key  of  the  jewel-case." 

"You  are  a  good  sleeper,"  responded  Skene 
donk. 

I  blessed  him  heartily  for  his  forethought,  and 
he  said  if  he  had  known  I  was  a  fool  he  would  not 
have  told  me  we  carried  the  jewel-case  into  Rus 
sia. 

I  dared  not  let  myself  think  of  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier.  The  plan  of  buying  back  her  estates,  which 
I  had  nurtured  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  was  now 
more  remote  than  America. 

One  bag  of  coin  was  spent  in  Paris,  but  three 
remained  there  with  Doctor  Chantry.  We  had 
money,  though  the  more  valuable  treasure  stayed  in 
Mittau. 

In  the  sloping  hills  and  green  vines  of  Cham 
pagne  we  were  no  longer  harassed  dodging  troops, 
and  slept  the  last  night  of  our  posting  at  Epernay. 
Taking  the  road  early  next  morning,  I  began  to 
watch  for  Plessy  too  soon,  without  forecasting  that 
I  was  not  to  set  foot  within  its  walls. 

We  came  within  the  marquis'  boundaries  upon  a 
little  goose  girl,  knitting  beside  her  flock.  Her 


246  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

bright  hair  was  bound  with  a  woolen  cap.  Delicious 
grass,  and  the  shadow  of  an  oak,  under  which  she 
stood,  were  not  to  be  resisted,  so  I  sent  the  carnage 
on.  She  looked  open-mouthed  after  Skenedonk, 
and  bobbed  her  dutiful,  frightened  courtesy  at  me. 

The  marquis'  peasants  were  by  no  means  under 
the  influence  of  the  Empire,  as  I  knew  from  observ 
ing  the  lad  whom  he  had  sought  among  the 
drowned  in  the  mortuary  chapel  of  the  Hotel  Dieu, 
and  who  was  afterwards  found  in  a  remote  wine 
shop  seeing  sights.  The  goose  girl  dared  not  speak 
to  me  unless  I  required  it  of  her,  and  the  unusual 
notice  was  an  honor  she  would  have  avoided. 

"What  do  you  do  here?"  I  inquired. 

Her  little  heart  palpitated  in  the  answer — "Oh, 
guard  the  geese." 

"Do  they  give  you  trouble?" 

"Not  much,  except  that  wicked  gander."  She 
pointed  out  with  her  knitting-needle  a  sleek  white 
fellow,  who  flirted  his  tail  and  turned  an  eye,  quav 
ering  as  if  he  said — "La,  la,  la!" 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"He  would  be  at  the  vines  and  the  corn,  mon 
sieur." 

"Bad  gander!" 

"I  switch  him,"  she  informed  me,  like  a  magis 
trate. 

"But  that  would  only  make  him  run." 

"Also  I  have  a  string  in  my  pocket,  and  I  tie  him 
by  the  leg  to  a  tree," 


WA.NDKRINQ  247 

"Serves  him  right.  Is  the  Marquis  du  Plessy 
at  the  chateau?" 

Her  face  grew  shaded,  as  a  cloud  chases  sunlight 
before  it  across  a  meadow.  "Do  you  mean  the  new 
marquis,  the  old  marquis*  cousin,  monsieur?  He 
went  away  directly  after  the  burial." 

"What  burial?"" 

"The  old  marquis'  burial.  That  was  before  St. 
John's  day." 

"Be  careful  what  you  say,  my  child!" 

"Didn't  you  know  he  was  dead,  monsieur  ?" 

"I  have  been  on  a  journey.  Was  his  death  sud 
den?" 

"He  was  killed  in  a  duel  in  Paris." 

I  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  my  head  in  my 
hands.  Bellenger  had  told  the  truth. 

One  scant  month  the  Marquis  du  Plessy  fostered 
me  like  a  son.  To  this  hour  my  slow  heart  aches 
for  the  companionship  of  the  lightest,  most  delicate 
spirit  I  ever  encountered  in  man. 

Once  I  lifted  my  head  and  insisted, 

"It  can't  be  true!" 

"Monsieur,"  the  goose  girl  asserted  solemnly,  "it 
is  true.  The  blessed  St.  Alpin,  my  patron,  forget 
me  if  I  tell  you  a  lie." 

Around  the  shadowed  spot  where  I  sat  I  heard 
trees  whispering  on  the  hills,  and  a  cart  rumbling 
along  the  hardened  dust  of  the  road. 

"Monsieur,"  spoke  the  goose  girl  out  of  her  good 
heart,  "if  you  want  to  go  to  his  chapel  I  will  show 
you  the  path," 


248  L  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

She  tied  a  string  around  the  leg  of  the  wicked 
gander  and  attached  him  to  the  tree,  shaking  a 
wand  at  him  in  warning.  He  nipped  her  sleeve, 
and  hissed,  and  hopped,  his  wives  remonstrating 
softly;  but  his  guardian  left  him  bound  and  carried 
her  knitting  down  a  valley  to  a  stream,  across  the 
bridge,  and  near  an  opening  in  the  bushes  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill. 

"Go  all  to  the  right,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "and 
you  will  come  to  the  chapel  where  the  Du  Plessys 
are  buried." 

I  gave  her  the  largest  coin  in  my  pocket,  and  she 
flew  back  as  well  as  the  spirit  of  childhood  could  fly 
in  wooden  shoes.  All  the  geese,  formed  in  a  line, 
waddled  to  meet  her,  perhaps  bearing  a  memorial 
of  wrongs  from  their  husband. 

The  climb  was  steep,  rounding  a  darkened  ferny 
shoulder  of  lush  forest,  yet  promising  more  and 
more  a  top  of  sunlight.  At  the  summit  was  a  car 
riage  road  which  ascended  by  some  easier  plane. 
Keeping  all  to  the  right  as  the  goose  girl  directed, 
I  found  a  chapel  like  a  shrine. 

It  was  locked.  Through  the  latticed  door  I  could 
see  an  altar,  whereunder  the  last  Du  Plessy  who 
had  come  to  rest  there,  doubtless  lay  with  his 
kin. 

I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches  under  the  trees. 
The  ache  within  me  went  deep.  But  all  that  sunny 
hillcrest  seemed  brightened  by  the  marquis.  It  was 
cheerful  as  his  smile.  "Let  us  have  a  glass  of  wine 
and  enjoy  the  sun,"  he  said  in  the  breeze  flowing 


WA.NDKRINO 

around  his  chapel.  "And  do  you  hear  that  little  cit 
izen  of  the  tree  trunks,  Lazarre?" 

The  perfume  of  the  woods  rose  invisibly  to  a 
cloudless  sky.  My  last  tryst  with  my  friend  was 
an  hour  in  paradise's  antechamber. 

The  light  quick  stepping  of  horses  and  their  rat 
tling  harness  brought  Madame  de  Ferrier's  car 
riage  quickly  around  the  curve  fronting  the  chapel. 
Her  presence  was  the  one  touch  which  the  place 
lacked,  and  I  forgot  grief,  shame,  impatience  at 
being  found  out  in  my  trouble,  and  stood  at  her  step 
with  my  hat  in  my  hand. 

She  said— "O  Lazarre !"-— and  Paul  beat  on 
Ernestine's  knee,  echoing — "O  Zar !"  and  my  com 
fort  was  absolute  as  release  from  pain,  because 
she  had  come  to  visit  her  old  friend  the  marquis. 

I  helped  her  down  and  stood  with  her  at  the  lat 
ticed  door. 

"How  bright  it  is  here!"  said  Eagle. 

"It  is  very  bright.  I  came  up  the  hill  from  a  dark 
place." 

"Did  the  news  of  his  death  meet  you  on  the  post- 
road?" 

"It  met  me  at  the  foot  of  this  hill.  The  goose  girl 
told  me." 

"Oh,  you  have  been  hurt!"  she  said,  looking  at 
me.  "Your  face  is  all  seamed.  Don't  tell  me  about 
Mittau  to-day.  Paul  and  I  are  taking  possession 
of  the  estates!" 

"Napoleon  has  given  them  back  to  you!" 

"Yes,  he  has  I  I  begged  the  De  Chaumonts  to  let 


250  IvAZARRK 

me  come  alone !  By  hard  posting  we  reached  Mont- 
Louis  last  night.  You  are  the  only  person  in 
France  to  whom  I  would  give  that  vacant  seat  in 
the  carriage  to-day." 

I  cared  no  longer  for  my  own  loss,  as  I  am  afraid 
has  been  too  much  my  way  all  through  life;  or 
whether  I  was  a  prince  or  not.  Like  paradise  after 
death,  as  so  many  of  our  best  days  come,  this  per 
fect  day  was  given  me  by  the  marquis  himself. 
Eagle's  summer  dress  touched  me.  Paul  and 
Ernestine  sat  facing  us,  and  Paul  ate  cherries  from 
a  little  basket,  and  had  his  ringers  wiped,  beating 
the  cushion  with  his  heels  in  excess  of  impatience 
to  begin  again. 

We  paused  at  a  turn  of  the  height  before  de 
scending,  where  fields  could  be  seen  stretching  to 
the  horizon,  woods  fair  and  clean  as  parks,  without 
the  wildness  of  the  American  forest,  and  vine 
yards  of  bushy  vines  that  bore  the  small  black 
grapes.  Eagle  showed  me  the  far  boundaries  of 
Paul's  estates.  Then  we  drove  where  holly  spread 
its  prickly  foliage  near  the  ground,  where  springs 
from  cliffs  trickled  across  delicious  lanes. 

Hoary  stone  farmhouses,  built  four-square  like  a 
fortress,  each  having  a  stately  archway,  saluted  us 
as  we  passed  by.  The  patron  and  his  wife  came  out, 
and  laborers,  pulling  their  caps,  dropped  down 
from  high-yoked  horses. 

But  when  the  long  single  street  of  stone  cottages 
which  formed  the  village  opened  its  arms,  I  could 


WANDKRINQ  251 

see  her  breast  swelling  and  her  gray  eyes  sweeping 
all  with  comprehensive  rush. 

An  elderly  man,  shaking  some  salad  in  a  wire 
basket,  dropped  it  at  his  feet,  and  bowed  and  bowed, 
sweeping  his  cap  to  the  ground.  Some  women  who 
were  washing  around  a  roofed  pool  left  their  pad 
dles,  and  ran,  wiping  suds  from  their  arms;  and 
houses  discharged  their  inmates,  babies  in  chil 
dren's  arms,  wives,  old  men,  the  simplicity  of  their 
lives  and  the  openness  of  their  labor  manifest.  They 
surrounded  the  carriage.  Eagle  stood  Paul  upon 
his  feet  that  they  might  worship  him,  and  his  mouth 
corners  curled  upward,  his  blue-eyed  fearless  look 
traveled  from  face  to  face,  while  her  gloved  hand 
was  kissed,  and  God  was  praised  that  she  had 
come  back. 

"O  Jean !"  she  cried,  "is  your  mother  alive?"  and 
''Marguerite!  have  you  a  son  so  tall?" 

An  old  creature  bent  double,  walked  out  on  four 
feet,  two  of  them  being  sticks,  lifted  her  voice,  and 
blessed  Eagle  and  the  child  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Paul's  mother  listened  reverently,  and  sent  him  in 
Ernestine's  arms  for  the  warped  human  being  to 
look  upon  at  close  range  with  her  failing  sight.  He 
stared  at  her  unafraid,  and  experimentally  put  his 
finger  on  her  knotted  cheek;  at  which  all  the  wom 
en  broke  into  chorus  as  I  have  heard  blackbirds 
rejoice. 

"I  have  not  seen  them  for  so  long!"  Madame  de 
Ferrier  said,  wiping  her  eyes.  "We  have  all  for 
gotten  our  behavior!" 


252  L,  A  Z;  A  R  R  B 

An  inverted  pine  tree  hung  over  the  inn  door, 
and  dinner  was  laid  for  us  in  its  best  room,  where 
host  and  hostess  served  the  marquise  and  the  young 
marquis  almost  on  their  knees. 

When  we  passed  out  at  the  other  end  of  the  vil 
lage,  Eagle  showed  me  a  square-towered  church. 

"The  De  Ferriers  are  buried  there — excepting 
my  father.  I  shall  put  a  tablet  in  the  wall  for  Cousin 
Philippe.  Few  Protestants  in  France  had  their 
rights  and  privileges  protected  as  ours  were  by  the 
throne.  I  mention  this  fact,  sire,  that  you  may  lay 
it  up  in  your  mind!  We  have  been  good  subjects, 
well  worth  our  salt  in  time  of  war." 

Best  of  all  was  coming  to  the  chateau  when  the 
sun  was  about  an  hour  high.  The  stone  pillars  of 
the  gateway  let  us  upon  a  terraced  lawn,  where  a 
fountain  played,  keeping  bent  plumes  of  water  in 
the  air.  The  lofty  chateau  of  white  stone  had  a  broad 
front,  with  wings.  Eagle  bade  me  note  the  two 
dove-cotes  or  pigeon  towers,  distinctly  separate 
structures,  one  flanking  each  wing,  and  demonstrat 
ing  the  antiquity  of  the  house.  For  only  nobles  in 
medieval  days  were  accorded  the  privilege  of  keep 
ing  doves. 

Should  there  be  such  another  evening  for  me 
when  I  come  to  paradise,  if  God  in  His  mercy 
brings  me  there,  I  shall  be  grateful,  but  hardly  with 
such  fresh-hearted  joy.  Night  descends  with  special 
benediction  on  remote  ancient  homes  like  Mont- 
Louis.  We  walked  until  sunset  in  the  park,  by  lake, 
and  bridged  stream,  and  hollied  path;  Ernestine 


We  walked  until  sunset  in  the  park,  by  lake,  and 
bridged  stream,  and  hollied  patb 


W  AKDKRINGr  253 

carrying  Paul  or  letting  him  pat  behind,  driving  her 
by  her  long  cap  ribbons  while  he  explored  his  moth 
er's  playground.  But  when  the  birds  began  to  nest, 
and  dewfall  could  be  felt,  he  was  taken  to  his  sup 
per  and  his  bed,,  giving  his  mother  a  generous  kiss, 
and  me  a  smile  of  his  upcurled  mouth  corners.  His 
forehead  was  white  and  broad,  and  his  blue  eyes 
were  set  well  apart. 

I  can  yet  see  the  child  looking  over  Ernestine's 
shoulder.  She  carried  him  up  stairs  of  oak  worn 
hollow  like  stone,  a  mighty  hand-wrought  balus 
trade  rising  with  them  from  hall  to  roof. 

We  had  our  supper  in  a  paneled  room  where  the 
lights  were  reflected  as  on  mirrors  of  polished  oak, 
and  the  man  who  served  us  had  served  Madame  de 
Ferrier's  father  and  grandfather.  The  gentle  old 
provincial  went  about  his  duty  as  a  religious  rite. 

There  was  a  pleached  walk  like  that  in  the  mar 
quis'  Paris  garden,  of  branches  flattened  and  plaited 
to  form  an  arbor  supported  by  tree  columns;  which 
led  to  a  summer-house  of  stone  smothered  in  ivy. 
We  walked  back  and  forth  under  this  thick  roof  of 
verdure.  Eagle's  cap  of  brown  hair  was  roughened 
over  her  radiant  face,  and  the  open  throat  of  her 
gown  showed  pulses  beating  in  her  neck.  Her  lifted 
chin  almost  touched  my  arm  as  I  told  her  all  the 
Mittau  story,  at  her  request. 

"Poor  Madame  d'Angouleme!  The  cautious 
priest  and  the  king  should  not  have  taken  you  from 
me  like  that!  She  knew  you  as  I  knew  you;  and 
a  woman's  knowing  is  better  than  a  man's  proofs. 


254  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

She  will  have  times  of  doubting  their  policy.  She 
will  remember  the  expression  of  your  mouth,  your 
shrugs,  and  gestures — the  little  traits  of  the  child 
Louis,  that  reappear  in  the  man." 

"I  wish  I  had  never  gone  to  Mittau  to  give  her  a 
moment's  distress." 

"Is  she  very  beautiful?" 

"She  is  like  a  lily  made  flesh.  She  has  her  strong 
dislikes,  and  one  of  them  is  Louis  Philippe — " 

"Naturally,"  said  Eagrle. 

<:But  she  seemed  sacred  to  me.    Perhaps  a  wom 
an  brings  that  hallowedness  out  of  martyrdom." 
"God  be  with  the  royal  lady !    And  you,  sire !" 

"And  you! — may  you  be  always  with  me,  Eagle!" 

"This  journey  to  Mittau  changes  nothing.  You 
were  wilful.  You  would  go  to  the  island  in  Lake 
George:  you  would  go  to  Mittau." 

"Both  times  you  sent  me." 

"Both  times  I  brought  you  home!  Let  us  not  be 
sorrowful  to-night." 

"Sorrowful!  I  am  so  happy  it  seems  impossible 
that  I  come  from  Mittau,  and  this  day  the  Marquis 
du  Plessy  died  to  me!  I  wish  the  sun  had  been  tied 
to  the  trees,  as  the  goose  girl  tied  her  gander." 

"But  I  want  another  day,"  said  Eagle.  "I  want 
all  the  days  that  are  my  due  at  home." 

We  ascended  the  steps  of  the  stone  pavilion,  and 
sat  down  in  an  arch  like  a  balcony  over  the  sunken 
garden.  Pears  and  apricots,  their  branches  flat 
tened  against  the  wall,  showed  ruddy  garnered  sun 
light  through  the  dusk.  The  tangled  enclosure 


WANDKRINO  255 

sloped  down  to  the  stream,,  from  which  a  fairy  wisp 
of  mist  wavered  over  flower  bed  and  tree.  Dew 
and  herbs  and  the  fragrance  of  late  roses  sent  up  a 
divine  breath,  invisibly  submerging  us,  like  a  tide 
rising  out  of  the  night. 

Madame  de  Ferrier's  individual  traits  were  sur 
prised  in  this  nearness,  as  they  never  had  been 
when  I  saw  her  at  a  distance  in  alien  surroundings. 
A  swift  ripple,  involuntary  and  glad,  coursed  down 
her  body;  she  shuddered  for  joy  half  a  minute 
or  so. 

Two  feet  away,  I  worshiped  her  smiling  eyes  and 
their  curved  ivory  lids,  her  rounded  head  with  its 
abundant  cap  of  hair,  her  chin,  her  shoulders,  her 
bust,  the  hands  in  her  lap,  the  very  sweep  of  her 
scant  gown  about  her  feet. 

The  flash  of  extreme  happiness  passing,  she  said 
gravely, 

"But  that  was  a  strange  thing — that  you  should 
fall  unconscious!" 

"Not  so  strange,"  I  said;  and  told  her  how  many 
times  before  the  eclipse — under  the  edge  of  which 
my  boyhood  was  passed — had  completely  shadowed 
me.  At  the  account  of  Ste.  Pelagie  she  leaned  to 
ward  me,  her  hands  clenched  on  her  breast.  When 
we  came  to  the  Hotel  Dieu  she  leaned  back  pallid 
against  the  stone. 

"Dear  Marquis  du  Plessy!"  she  whispered,  as  his 
name  entered  the  story. 

When  it  was  ended  she  drew  some  deep  breaths 
in  the  silence. 


256  I,  A.  Z  A  R  R  E 

"Sire,  you  must  be  very  careful.  That  Bellenger 
is  an  evil  man." 

"But  a  weak  one." 

"There  may  be  a  strength  of  court  policy  behind 
him." 

"The  policy  of  the  court  at  Mittau  is  evidently 
a  policy  of  denial." 

"Your  sister  believed  in  you." 

"Yes,  she  believed  in  me." 

"I  don't  understand/'  said  Madame  de  Ferrier, 
leaning  forward  on  her  arms,  "why  Bellenger  had 
you  in  London,  and  another  boy  on  the  moun 
tain." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  never  understand  it." 

"I  don't  understand  why  he  makes  it  his  business 
to  follow  you." 

"Let  us  not  trouble  ourselves  about  Bellenger." 

"But  are  you  safe  in  France  since  the  Marquis  du 
Plessy's  death?" 

"I  am  safe  to-night,  at  least." 

"Yes,  far  safer  than  you  would  be  in  Paris." 

"And  Skenedonk  is  my  guard." 

"I  have  sent  a  messenger  to  Plessy  for  him,"  Ma 
dame  de  Ferrier  said.  "He  will  be  here  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

I 'thanked  her  for  remembering  him  in  the  excite 
ment  of  her  home  coming.  We  heard  a  far  sweet 
call  through  a  cleft  of  the  hills,  and  Eagle  turned 
her  head. 

"That  must  be  the  shepherd  of  Les  Rochers.  He 
has  missed  a  lamb.  Les  Rochers  is  the  most  dis- 


W  A.  N  D  K  R  I  K  O  257 

tant  of  our  farms,  but  its  night  noises  can  be  heard 
through  an  opening  in  the  forest.  Paul  will  soon 
be  listening  for  all  these  sounds!  We  must  drive 
to  Les  Rochers  to-morrow.  It  was  there  that 
Cousin  Philippe  died." 

I  could  not  say  how  opportunely  Cousin  Philippe 
had  died.  The  violation  of  her  childhood  by  such 
a  marriage  rose  up  that  instant  a  wordless  tragedy. 

"Sire,  we  are  not  observing  etiquette  in  Mont- 
Louis  as  they  observe  it  at  Mittau.  I  have  been 
talking  very  familiarly  to  my  king.  I  will  keep 
silent.  You  speak." 

"Madame,  you  have  forbidden  me  to  speak!" 

She  gave  me  a  startled  look,  and  said, 

"Did  you  know  Jerome  Bonaparte  has  come 
back?  He  left  his  wife  in  America.  She  cannot  be 
received  in  France,  because  she  has  committed  the 
crime  of  marrying  a  prince.  She  is  to  be  divorced 
for  political  reasons." 

"Jerome  Bonaparte  is  a  hound!"  I  spoke  hotly. 

"And  his  wife  a  venturesome  woman — to  marry 
even  a  temporary  prince." 

"I  like  her  sort,  madame !" 

"Do  you,  sire?" 

"Yes,  I  like  a  woman  who  can  love!" 

"And  ruin?" 

"How  could  you  ruin  me?" 

"The  Saint-Michels  brought  me  up,"  said  Eagle. 
"They  taught  me  what  is  lawful  and  unlawful.  I 
will  never  do  an  unlawful  thing,  to  the  disgrace  and 


258  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

shame  of  my  house.  A  woman  should  build  her 
house,  not  tear  it  down." 

"What  is  unlawful?" 

"It  is  unlawful  for  me  to  encourage  the  suit  of 
my  sovereign." 

"Am  I  ever  likely  to  be  anything  but  what  they 
call  in  Mittau  a  pretender,  Eagle?" 

"That  we  do  not  know.  You  shall  keep  yourself 
free  from  entanglements." 

"I  am  free  from  them — God  knows  I  am  free 
enough! — the  lonesomest,  most  unfriended  savage 
that  ever  set  out  to  conquer  his  own." 

"You  were  born  to  greatness.  Great  things  will 
come  to  you." 

"If  you  loved  me  I  could  make  them  come!" 

"Sire,  it  isn't  healthy  to  sit  in  the  night  air.  We 
must  go  out  of  the  dew." 

"Oh,  who  would  be  healthy!  Come  to  that,  who 
would  be  such  a  royal  beggar  as  I  am?" 

"Remember,"  she  said  gravely,  "that  your  claim 
was  in  a  manner  recognized  by  one  of  the  most 
cautious,  one  of  the  least  ardent  royalists,  in 
France." 

The  recognition  she  knew  nothing  about  came 
to  my  lips,  and  I  told  her  the  whole  story  of  the 
jewels.  The  snuffbox  was  in  my  pocket.  Sophie 
Saint-Michel  had  often  described  it  to  her. 

She  sat  and  looked  at  me,  contemplating  the  stu 
pendous  loss. 

"The  marquis  advised  me  not  to  take  them  into 
Russia,"  I  acknowledged. 


NDBRING  259 

"There  is  no  robbery  so  terrible  as  the  robbery 
committed  by  those  who  think  they  are  doing 
right." 

"I  am  one  of  the  losing  Bourbons." 

"Can  anything  be  hidden  in  that  closet  in  the 
queen's  dressing-room  wall?"  mused  Eagle.  "I 
believe  I  could  find  it  in  the  dark,  Sophie  told  me 
so  often  where  the  secret  spring  may  be  touched. 
When  the  De  Chaumonts  took  me  to  the  Tuileries 
I  wanted  to  search  for  it.  But  all  the  state  apart 
ments  are  now  on  the  second  floor,  and  Madame 
Bonaparte  has  her  own  rooms  below.  Evidently 
she  knows  nothing  of  the  secrets  of  the  place.  The 
queen  kept  her  most  beautiful  robes  in  that  closet. 
It  has  no  visible  door.  The  wall  opens.  And  we 
have  heard  that  a  door  was  made  through  the  back 
of  it  to  let  upon  a  spiral  staircase  of  stone,  and 
through  this  the  royal  family  made  their  escape  to 
Varennes,  when  they  were  arrested  and  brought 
back." 

We  fell  into  silence  at  mention  of  the  unsuccess 
ful  flight  which  could  have  changed  history;  and 
she  rose  and  said — "Good-night,  sire." 

Next  morning  there  was  such  a  delicious  world 
to  live  in  that  breathing  was  a  pleasure.  Dew  gauze 
spread  far  and  wide  over  the  radiant  domain. 
Sounds  from  cattle,  and  stables,  and  the  voices  of 
servants  drifted  on  the  air.  Doves  wheeled  around 
their  towers,  and  around  the  chateau  standing  like 
a  white  cliff. 

I  walked  under  the  green  canopy  watching  the 


260 


sun  mount  and  waiting  for  Madame  de  Ferrier. 
When  she  did  appear  the  old  man  who  had  served 
her  father  followed  with  a  tray.  I  could  only  say  — 
"Good-morning,  madame,"  not  daring  to  add  —  "I 
have  scarcely  slept  for  thinking  of  you." 

"We  will  have  our  coffee  out  here,"  she  told 
me. 

It  was  placed  on  the  broad  stone  seat  under  the 
arch  of  the  pavilion  where  we  sat  the  night  before; 
bread,  unsalted  butter  from  the  farms,  the  coffee, 
the  cream,  the  loaf  sugar.  Madame  de  Ferrier  her 
self  opened  a  door  in  the  end  of  the  wall  and 
plunged  into  the  dew  of  the  garden.  Her  old  ser 
vant  exclaimed.  She  caught  her  hair  in  briers  and 
laughed,  tucking  it  up  from  falling,  and  brought 
off  two  great  roses,  each  the  head  and  the  strength 
of  a  stem,  to  lay  beside  our  plates.  The  breath  of 
roses  to  this  hour  sends  through  my  veins  the  joy 
of  that. 

Then  the  old  servant  gathered  wall  fruit  for  us, 
and  she  sent  some  in  his  hand  to  Paul.  Through 
a  festooned  arch  of  the  pavilion  giving  upon  the 
terraces,  we  saw  a  bird  dart  down  to  the  fountain, 
tilt  and  drink,  tilt  and  drink  again,  and  flash  away. 
Immediately  the  multitudinous  rejoicing  of  a  sky 
lark  dropped  from  upper  air.  When  men  would 
send  thanks  to  the  very  gate  of  heaven  their  envojf 
should  be  a  skylark. 

Eagle  was  like  a  little  girl  as  she  listened. 

"This  is  the  first  day  of  September,  sire/' 


WANDKRINQ  261 

"Is  it?  I  thought  it  was  the  first  day  of  crea 
tion." 

"I  mention  the  date  that  you  may  not  forget  it. 
Because  I  am  going  to  give  you  something  to-day." 

My  heart  leaped  like  a  conqueror's. 

Her  skin  was  as  fresh  as  the  roses,  looking  mar 
velous  to  touch.  The  shock  of  imminent  discovery 
went  through  me.  For  how  can  a  man  consider  a 
woman  forever  as  a  picture?  A  picture  she  was, 
in  the  short-waisted  gown  of  the  Empire,  of  that 
\vhite  stuff  Napoleon  praised  because  it  was  manu 
factured  in  France.  It  showed  the  line  of  her  throat, 
being  parted  half  way  down  the  bosom  by  a  ruff 
which  encircled  her  neck  and  stood  high  behind  it. 
The  transparent  sleeves  clung  to  her  arms,  and  the 
slight  outline  of  her  figure  looked  long  in  its  close 
casing. 

The  gown  tail  curled  around  her  slippered  foot 
damp  from  the  plunge  in  the  garden.  She  gave  it 
a  little  kick,  and  rippled  again  suddenly  throughout 
her  length. 

Then  her  face  went  grave,  like  a  child's  when  it 
is  surprised  in  wickedness. 

"But  our  fathers  and  mothers  would  have  us  for 
get  their  suffering  in  the  festival  of  coming  home, 
wouldn't  they,  Lazarre?" 

"Surely,  Eagle." 

"Then  why  are  you  looking  at  me  with  re 
proach?" 

"I'm  not." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  like  my  dress?" 


262  L  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

I  told  her  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  noticed 
anything  she  wore,  and  I  liked  it. 

"I  used  to  wear  my  mother's  clothes.  Ernestine 
and  I  made  them  over.  But  this  is  new;  for  the 
new  day,  and  the  new  life  here." 

"And  the  day,"  I  reminded  her,  "is  the  first  of 
September." 

She  laughed,  and  opened  her  left  hand,  showing 
me  two  squat  keys  so  small  that  both  had  lain  con 
cealed  under  two  of  her  finger  tips. 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  a  key,  sire." 

"Will  it  unlock  a  woman's  mind?" 

"It  will  open  a  padlocked  book.  Last  night  I 
found  a  little  blank-leaved  book,  with  wooden  cov 
ers.  It  was  fastened  by  a  padlock,  and  these  keys 
were  tied  to  it.  You  may  have  one  key :  I  will  keep 
the  other." 

"The  key  to  a  padlocked  book  with  nothing  in 
it." 

Her  eyes  tantalized  me. 

"I  am  going  to  put  something  in  it.  Sophie 
Saint-Michel  said  I  had  a  gift  for  putting  down  my 
thoughts.  If  the  gift  appeared  to  Sophie  when  I 
was  a  child,  it  must  grow  in  me  by  use.  Every  day 
I  shall  put  some  of  my  life  into  the  book.  And 
when  I  die  I  will  bequeath  it  to  you!" 

"Take  back  the  key,  madame.  I  have  no  desire 
to  look  into  your  coffin." 

She  extended  her  hand. 

"Then  our  good  and  kind  friend  Count  de  Chau- 
mont  shall  have  it." 


WANDKRINQ  263 

"He  shall  not!" 

I  held  to  her  hand  and  kept  my  key. 

She  slipped  away  from  me.  The  laughter  of  the 
child  yet  rose  through  the  dignity  of  the  woman. 

"When  may  I  read  this  book,  Eagle?" 

"Never,  of  my  free  will,  sire.  How  could  I  set 
down  all  I  thought  about  you,  for  instance,  if  the 
certainty  was  hanging  over  me  that  you  would  read 
my  candid  opinions  and  punish  me  for  them!" 

"Then  of  what  use  is  the  key?" 

"You  would  rather  have  it  than  give  it  to  another, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"Decidedly." 

"Well,  you  will  have  the  key  to  my  thoughts!" 

"And  if  the  book  ever  falls  into  my  hands — " 

"I  will  see  that  it  doesn't!" 

"I  will  say,  years  from  now — " 

"Twenty?" 

"Twenty?    O  Eagle!" 

"Ten." 

"Months?  TKat's  too  long!" 

"No,  ten  years,  sire." 

"Not  ten  years,  Eagle.    Say  eight." 

"No,  nine." 

"Seven.  If  the  book  falls  into  my  hands  at  the 
end  of  seven  years,  may  I  open  it?" 

"I  may  safely  promise  you  that,"  she  laughed. 
"The  book  will  never  fall  into  your  hands." 

I  took  from  my  pocket  the  gold  snuffbox  with 
the  portraits  on  the  lid,  and  placed  my  key  carefully 
therein.  Eagle  leaned  forward  to  look  at  them. 


264  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

She  took  the  box  in  her  hand,  and  gazed  with  long 
reverence,  drooping  her  head. 

Young  as  I  was,  and  unskilled  in  the  ways  of 
women,  that  key  worked  magic  comfort.  She  had 
given  me  a  link  to  hold  us  together.  The  inconsist 
ent,  contradictory  being,  old  one  instant  with  the 
wisdom  of  the  Saint-Michels,  rippling  full  of  unre 
strained  life  the  next,  denying  me  all  hope,  yet  in 
definitely  tantalizing,  was  adorable  beyond  words. 
I  closed  my  eyes:  the  blinding  sunshine  struck 
them  through  the  ivied  arch. 

Turning  my  head  as  I  opened  them,  I  saw  an  old 
man  come  out  on  the  terrace. 

He  tried  to  search  in  every  direction,  his  gray 
head  and  faded  eyes  moving  anxiously.  Madame 
de  Ferrier  was  still.  I  heard  her  lay  the  snuffbox 
on  the  stone  seat.  I  knew,  though  I  could  not  let 
myself  watch  her,  that  she  stood  up  against  the  wall, 
a  woman  of  stone,  her  lips  chiseled  apart. 

"Eagle — Eagle!"  the  old  man  cried  from  the  ter 
race. 

She  whispered — "Yes,  Cousin  Philippe!" 


XI 


WIFTLY  as  she  passed  between  the  tree  col- 
umns,  more  swiftly  her  youth  and  vitality 
died  in  that  walk  of  a  few  yards. 

We  had  been  girl  and  boy  together  a  brief  half 
hour,  heedless  and  gay.  When  she  reached  the 
arbor  end,  our  chapter  of  youth  was  ended. 

I  saw  her  bloodless  face  as  she  stepped  upon  the 
terrace. 

The  man  stretched  his  arms  to  her.  As  if  the 
blight  of  her  spirit  fell  upon  him,  the  light  died  out 
of  his  face  and  he  dropped  his  arms  at  his  sides. 

He  was  a  courtly  gentleman,  cadaverous  and 
shabby  as  he  stood,  all  the  breeding  of  past  genera 
tions  appearing  in  him. 

"Eagle?"  he  said.  The  tone  of  piteous  apology 
went  through  me  like  a  sword. 

She  took  his  hands  and  herself  drew  them  around 
her  neck.  He  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 

"O  Cousin  Philippe!" 

"I  have  frightened  you,  child!  I  meant  to  send 
a  message  first — but  I  wanted  to  see  you — I  wanted 
to  come  home!" 

"Cousin  Philippe,  who  wrote  that  letter?" 

"The  notary,  child.    I  made  him  do  it." 

"It  was  cruel!"  She  gave  way,  and  brokenly 
sobbed,  leaning  helpless  against  him. 

265 


266  L  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

The  old  marquis  smoothed  her  head,  and  puck 
ered  his  forehead  under  the  sunlight,  casting  his 
eyes  around  like  a  culprit. 

"It  was  desperate.  But  I  could  do  nothing  else! 
You  see  it  has  succeeded.  While  I  lay  in  hiding, 
the  sight  of  the  child,  and  your  youth,  has  softened 
Bonaparte.  That  was  my  intention,  Eagle!" 

"The  peasants  should  have  told  me  you  were 
living!" 

"They  didn't  know  I  came  back.  Many  of  them 
think  I  died  in  America.  The  family  at  Les  Roch- 
ers  have  been  very  faithful;  and  the  notary  has 
held  his  tongue.  We  must  reward  them,  Eagle. 
I  have  been  hidden  very  closely.  I  am  tired  of  such 
long  hiding!" 

He  looked  toward  the  chateau  and  lifted  his  voice 
sharply — 

"Where's  the  baby?    I  haven't  seen  the  baby!" 

With  gracious  courtesy,  restraining  an  impulse 
to  plunge  up  the  steps,  he  gave  her  his  arm;  and 
she  swayed  against  it  as  they  entered. 

When  I  could  see  them  no  more,  I  rose,  and  put 
my  snuffbox  in  my  breast.  The  key  rattled  in  it. 

A  savage  need  of  hiding  when  so  wounded, 
worked  first  through  the  disorder  that  let  me  see 
none  of  the  amenities  of  leave-taking,  self-com 
mand,  conduct. 

I  was  beyond  the  gates,  bare-headed,  walking 
with  long  strides,  when  an  old  mill  caught  my  eye, 
and  I  turned  towards  it,  as  we  turn  to  trifles  to 
relieve  us  from  unendurable  tension.  The  water 


WANDKRINQ  267 

dripped  over  the  wheel,  and  long  green  beard 
trailed  from  its  chin  down  the  sluice.  In  this  quiet 
ing  company  Skenedonk  spied  me  as  he  rattled 
past  with  the  post-carriage;  and  considering  my 
behavior  at  other  times,  he  was  not  enough  sur 
prised  to  waste  any  good  words  of  Oneida. 

He  stopped  the  carriage  and  I  got  in.  He  pointed 
ahead  toward  a  curtain  of  trees  which  screened  the 
chateau. 

"Paris,"  I  answered. 

"Paris,"  he  repeated  to  the  postilion,  and  we 
turned  about.  I  looked  from  hill  to  stream,  from 
the  fruited  brambles  of  blackberry  to  reaches  of 
noble  forest,  realizing  that  I  should  never  see  those 
lands  again,  or  the  neighboring  crest  where  my 
friend  the  marquis  slept. 

We  posted  the  distance  to  Paris  in  two  days. 

.What  the  country  was  like  or  what  towns  we 
passed  I  could  not  this  hour  declare  with  any  cer 
tainty.  At  first  making  effort  and  groping  numbly 
in  my  mind,  but  the  second  day  grasping  determina 
tion,  I  formed  my  plans,  and  talked  them  over  with 
Skenedonk.  We  would  sail  for  America  on  the  first 
convenient  ship ;  waiting  in  Paris  only  long  enough 
to  prepare  for  the  post  journey  to  a  port.  Charges 
must  at  once  be  settled  with  Doctor  Chantry,  who 
would  willingly  stay  in  Paris  while  the  De  Chau- 
monts  remained  there. 

Beyond  the  voyage  I  did  not  look.  The  first 
faint  tugging  of  my  foster  country  began  to  pull  me 


268  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  H 

as  it  has  pulled  many  a.  broken  wretch  out  of  the 
conditions  of  the  older  world. 

Paris  was  horrible,  with  a  lonesomeness  no  one 
could  have  foreseen  in  its  crowded  streets.  A  taste 
of  war  was  in  the  air.  Troops  passed  to  review. 
Our  post-carriage  met  the  dashing  coaches  of  gay 
young  men  I  knew,  who  stared  at  me  without  rec 
ognition.  Marquis  du  Plessy  no  longer  made  way 
for  me  and  displayed  me  at  his  side. 

I  drove  to  his  hotel  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger 
main  for  my  possessions.  It  was  closed:  the  distant 
relative  who  inherited  after  him  being  an  heir  with 
no  Parisian  tastes.  The  care-taker,  however,  that 
gentle  old  valet  like  a  woman,  who  had  dressed  me 
in  my  first  Parisian  finery,  let  us  in,  and  waited 
upon  us  with  food  I  sent  him  out  to  buy.  He  gave 
me  a  letter  from  my  friend,  which  he  had  held  to  de 
liver  on  my  return,  in  case  any  accident  befell  the 
marquis.  He  was  tremulous  in  his  mourning,  and 
all  his  ardent  care  of  me  was  service  rendered  to  the 
dead. 

I  sat  in  the  garden,  with  the  letter  spread  upon 
the  table  where  we  had  dined.  Its  brevity  was  gay. 
The  writer  would  have  gone  under  the  knife  with 
a  jest.  He  did  not  burden  me  with  any  kind  of 
counsel.  We  had  touched.  We  might  touch  again. 
It  was  as  if  a  soul  sailed  by,  waving  its  hat. 

"My  Dear  Boy:— 

I  wanted  you,  but  it  was  best  you  should  not 
stay  and  behold  the  depravity  of  your  elders. 
It  is  about  a  woman. 


W  ANDKRINO  269 

May  you  come  to  a  better  throne  than  the  un 
steady  one  of  France. 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

Etienne  du  Plessy. 
Garlic  is  the  spice  of  life,  my  boy!" 

I  asked  no  questions  about  the  affair  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged.  If  he  had  wanted  me  to 
know  he  would  have  told  me. 

The  garden  was  more  than  I  could  endure.  I  lay 
down  early  and  slept  late,  as  soon  as  I  awoke  in  the 
morning  beginning  preparation  for  leaving  France. 
Yet  two  days  passed,  for  we  were  obliged  to  ex 
change  our  worn  post-carriage  for  another  after 
waiting  for  repairs.  The  old  valet  packed  my  be 
longings;  though  I  wondered  what  I  was  going  to 
do  with  them  in  America.  The  outfit  of  a  young 
man  of  fashion  overdressed  a  refugee  of  diminished 
fortune. 

For  no  sooner  was  I  on  the  street  than  a  sense 
of  being  unmistakably  watched  grew  upon  me.  I 
scarcely  caught  anybody  in  the  act.  A  succession 
of  vanishing  people  passed  me  from  one  to  another. 
A  working  man  in  his  blouse  eyed  me;  and  disap 
peared.  In  the  afternoon  it  was  a  soldier  who 
turned  up  near  my  elbow,  and  in  the  evening  he  was 
succeeded  by  an  equally  interested  old  woman.  I 
might  not  have  remembered  these  people  with  dis 
trust  if  Skenedonk  had  not  told  me  he  was  trailed 
by  changing  figures,  and  he  thought  it  was  time  to 
get  behind  trees. 


270  Iv  .A  Z  A  R:  R  K 

Bellenger  might  have  returned  to  Paris,  and  set 
Napoleon's  spies  on  the  least  befriended  Bourbon  of 
all;  or  the  police  upon  a  man  escaped  from  Ste. 
Pelagic  after  choking  a  sacristan. 

The  Indian  and  I  were  not  skilled  in  disguises 
as  our  watchers  were.  Our  safety  lay  in  getting  out 
of  Paris.  Skenedonk  undertook  to  stow  our  be 
longings  in  the  post-chaise  at  the  last  minute.  I 
went  to  De  Chaumont's  hotel  to  bring  the  money 
from  Doctor  Chantry  and  to  take  leave  without 
appearing  to  do  so. 

Mademoiselle  de  Chaumont  seized  me  as  I  en 
tered.  Her  carriage  stood  in  the  court.  Miss  Chan 
try  was  waiting  in  it  while  Annabel's  maid  fastened 
her  glove. 

"O  Lazarre!"  the  poppet  cried,  her  heartiness 
going  through  me  like  wine.  "Are  you  back?  And 
how  you  are  changed !  They  must  have  abused  you 
in  Russia.  We  heard  you  went  to  Russia.  But  since 
dear  Marquis  du  Plessy  died  we  never  hear  the 
truth  about  anything." 

I  acknowledged  that  I  had  been  to  Russia. 

"Why  did  you  go  there?  Tell  your  dearest  Anna 
bel.  She  won't  tell." 

"To  see  a  lady." 

Annabel  shook  her  fretwork  of  misty  hair. 

'That's  treason  to  me.    Is  she  beautiful?/' 

"Very." 

"Kind?" 

"Perfectly." 


NDKRINQ  271 

"Well,  you're  not.  By  the  way,  why  are  you  look 
ing  so  wan  if  she  is  beautiful  and  kind?" 

"I  didn't  say  she  was  beautiful  and  kind  for  me, 
did  I?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  She  has  jilted  you,  the 
wretch.  Your  dearest  Annabel  will  console  you, 
Lazarre!"  She  clasped  my  arm  with  both  hands. 
"Madame  de  Ferrier's  husband  is  alive!" 

"What  consolation  is  there  in  that?" 

"A  great  deal  for  me.  She  has  her  estates  back, 
and  he  was  only  hiding  until  she  got  them.  I  know 
the  funniest  thing!" 

Annabel  hooked  her  ringer  and  led  me  to  a  small 
study  or  cabinet  at  the  end  of  the  drawing-room. 

A  profusion  of  the  most  beautiful  stuffs  was  ar 
ranged  there  for  display. 

"Look!"  the  witch  exclaimed,  pinching  my  wrist 
in  her  rapture.  "India  muslin  embroidered  in  silver 
lama,  Turkish  velvet,  ball  dresses  for  a  bride,  rib 
bons  of  all  colors,  white  blond,  Brussels  point, 
Cashmere  shawls,  veils  in  English  point,  reticules, 
gloves,  fans,  essences,  a  bridal  purse  of  gold  links — 
and  worse  than  all, — except  this  string  of  perfect 
pearls — his  portrait  on  a  medallion  of  ivory,  painted 
by  Isabey!" 

"What  is  this  collection?" 

"A  corbeille!" 

"What's  a  corbeille?" 

Annabel  crossed  her  hands  in  desperation.  "Oh, 
haven't  you  been  in  Paris  long  enough  to  know 
what  a  corbeille  is?  It's  the  collection  of  gifts  a 


I,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

bridegroom  makes  for  his  bride.  He  puts  his  taste, 
his  sentiment,  his" — she  waved  her  fingers  in  the 
air — "as  well  as  his  money,  into  it.  A  corbeille 
shows  what  a  man  is.  He  must  have  been  collect 
ing  it  ever  since  he  came  to  France.  I  feel  proud 
of  him.  I  want  to  pat  him  on  his  dear  old  back!" 

Not  having  him  there  to  pat  she  patted  me. 

"You  are  going  to  be  married?" 

"Who  said  I  was  going  to  be  married?" 

"Isn't  this  your  corbeille?" 

Annabel  lifted  herself  to  my  ear. 

"It  was  Madame  de  Ferrier 's!" 

"What!" 

"I'm  sure  of  it!" 

"Who  bought  it?" 

"Count  de  Chaumont,  of  course." 

"Was  Madame  de  Ferrier  going  to  marry  him?" 

"Who  wouldn't  marry  a  man  with  such  a  cor 
beille?" 

"Was  she?" 

"Don't  grind  your  teeth  at  your  dearest  Annabel. 
She  hadn't  seen  it,  but  it  must  have  decided  her. 
I  am  sure  he  intended  to  marry  Madame  de  Fer 
rier,  and  he  does  most  things  he  undertakes  to  do. 
That  inconsiderate  wretch  of  a  Marquis  de  Ferrier 
— to  spoil  such  a  corbeille  as  this!  But  Lazarre!" 
She  patted  her  gloved  hands.  "Here's  the  consola 
tion  :— my  father  will  be  obliged  to  turn  his  corbeille 
into  my  trousseau  when  I  am  married!" 

"What's  a  trousseau  ?" 

"Goose!  It's  a  bride's  wardrobe.   I  knew  he  had 


WANDKRINQ  273 

something  is  this  cabinet,  but  he  never  left  the  key 
in  the  door  until  to-day.  He  was  so  completely 
upset  when  the  De  Ferriers  came  into  Paris!" 

"Are  they  in  Paris?" 

"Yes,  at  their  own  hotel.  The  old  marquis  has 
posted  here  to  thank  the  emperor!  The  emperor  is 
away  with  the  troops,  so  he  is  determined  at  least 
to  thank  the  empress  at  the  assembly  to-night." 

"Will  Madame  de  Ferrier  go  to  the  Tuileries?" 

"Assuredly.  Fancy  how  furious  my  father  must 
be!" 

"May  I  enter?"  said  the  humblest  of  voices  out 
side  the  door. 

We  heard  a  shuffling  step. 

Annabel  made  a  face  and  clenched  her  hand& 
The  sprite  was  so  harmless  I  laughed  at  her  mis 
chief.  She  brought  in  Doctor  Chantry  as  she  had 
brought  me,  to  behold  the  corbeille;  covering  her 
father's  folly  with  transparent  fabrications,  which 
anybody  but  the  literal  Briton  must  have  seen 
through.  He  scarcely  greeted  me  at  all,  folding  his 
hands,  pale  and  crushed,  the  sharp  tip  of  his  nose 
standing  up  more  than  ever  like  a  porcelain  candle- 
extinguisher,  while  I  was  anxious  to  have  him  aside, 
to  get  my  money  and  take  my  leave. 

"See  this  beautiful  corbeille,  Doctor  Chantry! 
Doesn't  it  surprise  you  Lazarre  should  have  such 
taste?  We  are  going  this  morning  to  the  mayor  of 
the  arrondissement.  Nothing  is  so  easy  as  civil 
marriage  under  the  Empire!  Of  course  the  relig 
ious  sacrament  in  the  church  of  the  Capuchins 


274  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

follows,  and  celebrating  that  five  minutes  before 
midnight,  will  make  all  Paris  talk!  Go  with  us  to 
the  mayor,  Doctor  Chantry!" 

"No,"  he  answered,  "no!" 

"My  father  joins  us  there.  We  have  kept  Miss 
Chantry  waiting  too  long.  She  will  be  tired  of  sit 
ting  in  the  carriage." 

Chattering  with  every  breath  Annabel  entrained 
us  both  to  the  court,  my  poor  master  hobbling  after 
her  a  victim,  and  staring  at  me  with  hatred  when 
I  tried  to  get  a  word  in  undertone. 

I  put  Annabel  into  the  coach,  and  Miss  Chantry 
made  frigid  room  for  me. 

"Hasten  yourself,  Lazarre,"  said  Mademoiselle 
de  Chaumont. 

I  looked  back  at  the  poor  man  who  was  being 
played  with,  and  she  cried  out  laughing — 

"Did  you  go  to  Russia  a  Parisian  to  come  back  a 
bear?" 

I  entered  her  coach,  intending  to  take  my  leave 
as  soon  as  I  had  seen  Count  de  Chaumont.  Anna 
bel  chattered  all  the  way  about  civil  marriage,  and 
directed  Miss  Chantry  to  wait  for  us  while  we  went 
in  to  the  mayor.  I  was  perhaps  too  indifferent  to 
the  trick.  The  usually  sharp  governess,  undecided 
and  piqued,  sat  still. 

The  count  was  not  in  the  mayor's  office.  A  civil 
marriage  was  going  forward,  and  a  strange  bridal 
party  looked  at  us. 

"Now,  Lazarre,"  the  strategist  confided,  "your 
dearest  Annabel  is  going  to  cover  herself  with  Pa- 


NDKRINQ  275 

risian  disgrace.  You  don't  know  how  maddening 
it  is  to  have  every  step  dogged  by  a  woman  who 
never  was,  never  could  have  been — and  manifestly 
never  will  be — young!  Wasn't  that  a  divine  flash 
about  the  corbeille  and  the  mayor?  Miss  Chantry 
will  wait  outside  half  a  day.  As  I  said,  she  will  be 
very  tired  of  sitting  in  the  carriage.  This  is  what 
you  must  do;  smuggle  me  out  another  way;  call 
another  carriage,  and  take  me  for  a  drive  and 
wicked  dinner.  I  don't  care  what  the  consequences 
are,  if  you  don't!" 

I  said  I  certainly  didn't,  and  that  I  was  ready  to 
throw  myself  in  the  Seine  if  that  would  amuse  her; 
and  she  commended  my  improvement  in  manners. 
We  had  a  drive,  with  a  sympathetic  coachman ;  and 
a  wicked  dinner  in  a  suburb,  which  would  have  been 
quite  harmless  on  American  ground.  The  child 
was  as  full  of  spirits  as  she  had  been  the  night  she 
mounted  the  cabin  chimney.  But  I  realized  that 
more  of  my  gold  pieces  were  slipping  away,  and  I 
had  not  seen  Doctor  Chantry. 

"We  were  going  to  the  mayor's,"  she  maintained, 
when  reproached.  "My  father  would  have  joined 
us  if  he  had  been  there.  He  would  certainly  have 
joined  us  if  he  had  seen  me  alone  with  you.  Noth 
ing  is  so  easy  as  civil  marriage  under  the  Empire. 
Of  course  the  religious  sacrament  follows,  when 
people  want  it,  and  if  it  is  celebrated  in  the  church 
of  the  Capuchins — or  any  other  church — five  min 
utes  before  midnight,  it  will  make  all  Paris  talkj 
Every  word  I  said  was  true!" 


276  L,  A.  Z  A.  R  R  K 

"But  Doctor  Chantry  believed  something  en 
tirely  different." 

"You  can't  do  anything  for  the  English,"  said 
Annabel.  "Next  week  he  will  say  haw-haw." 

Doctor  Chantry  could  not  be  found  when  we  re 
turned  to  her  father's  hotel.  She  gave  me  her 
fingers  to  kiss  in  good-bye,  and  told  me  I  was  less 
doleful. 

"We  thought  you  were  the  Marquis  du  Plessy's 
son,  Lazarre.  I  always  have  believed  that  story  the 
Holland  woman  told  in  the  cabin,  about  your  rank 
being  superior  to  mine.  Don't  be  cut  up  about 
Madame  de  Ferrier!  You  may  have  to  go  to  Rus 
sia  again  for  her,  but  you'll  get  her!" 

The  witch  shook  the  mist  of  hair  at  the  sides  of 
her  pretty  aquiline  face,  blew  a  kiss  at  me,  and  ran 
up  the  staircase  and  out  of  my  life.  After  waiting 
long  for  Doctor  Chantry  I  hurried  to  Skenedonk 
and  sent  him  with  instructions  to  find  my  master 
and  conclude  our  affair  before  coming  back. 

The  Indian  silently  entered  the  Du  Plessy  hotel 
after  dusk,  crestfallen  and  suspicious.  He  brought 
nothing  but  a  letter,  left  in  Doctor  Chantry's  room ; 
and  no  other  trace  remained  of  Doctor  Chantry. 

"What  has  he  done  with  himself,  Skenedonk?" 
I  exclaimed. 

The  Oneida  begged  me  to  read  that  we  might 
trail  him. 

It  was  a  long  and  very  tiresome  letter  written  in 
my  master's  spider  tracks,  containing  long  and 
tiresome  enumerations  of  his  services.  He  pre- 


WANDKRING  277 

sented  a  large  bill  for  his  guardianship  on  the  voy 
age  and  across  France.  He  said  I  was  not  only 
a  Rich  Man  through  his  Influence,  but  I  had 
proved  myself  an  ungrateful  one,  and  had  robbed 
him  of  his  only  Sentiment  after  a  disappointed  Ex 
istence.  My  Impudence  was  equaled  only  by  my 
astonishing  Success,  and  he  chose  not  to  contem 
plate  me  as  the  Husband  of  Beauty  and  Lofty  Sta 
tion,  whose  Shoes  he  in  his  Modesty  and  Worth, 
felt  unworthy  to  unlatch.  Therefore  he  withdrew 
that  very  day  from  Paris,  and  would  embrace  the 
Opportunity  of  going  into  pensive  Retirement  and 
rural  Contemplation,  in  his  native  Kingdom ;  where 
his  Sister  would  join  him  when  she  could  do  so  with 
Dignity  and  Propriety. 

I  glanced  from  line  to  line  smiling,  but  the  post 
script  brought  me  to  my  feet. 

"The  Deposit  which  you  left  with  me  I  shall 
carry  with  me,  as  no  more  than  my  Due  for  lifting 
low  Savagery  to  high  Gentility,  and  beg  to  sub 
scribe  my  Thanks  for  at  least  this  small  Tribute  of 
Gratitude." 

"Doctor  Chantry  is  gone  with  the  money!" 

Skenedonk  bounded  up  grasping  the  knife  which 
he  always  carried  in  a  sheath  hanging  from  his 
belt. 

"Which  way  did  the  old  woman  go?" 

"Stop,"  I  said. 

The  Indian  half  crouched  for  counsel. 

"I'll  be  a  prince!  Let  him  have  it." 

"Let  him  rob  you?" 


278  L,  A  Z  A.  R  R  E> 

"We're  quits,  now.  I've  paid  him  for  the  lancet 
stab  I  gave  him." 

"But  you  haven't  a  whole  bagful  of  coin  left." 

"We  brought  nothing  into  France,  and  it  seems 
certain  we  shall  take  nothing  but  experience  out  of 
it.  And  I'm  young,  Skenedonk.  He  isn't." 

The  Oneida  grunted.  He  was  angrier  than  I  had 
ever  seen  him. 

"We  ought  to  have  knocked  the  old  woman  on 
the  head  at  Saratoga,"  he  responded. 

Annabel's  trick  had  swept  away  my  little  fortune. 
With  recklessness  which  repeated  loss  engenders 
I  proposed  we  scatter  the  remaining  coin  in  the 
street,  but  Skenedonk  prudently  said  we  would  di 
vide  and  conceal  it  in  our  clothes.  I  gave  the  kind 
valet  a  handful  to  keep  his  heart  warm;  and  our 
anxieties  about  our  valuables  were  much  light 
ened. 

Then  we  consulted  about  our  imminent  start,  and 
I  told  my  servant  it  would  be  better  to  send  the 
post-chaise  across  the  Seine.  He  agreed  with  me. 
And  for  me  to  come  to  it  as  if  by  accident  the  mo 
ment  we  were  ready  to  join  each  other  on  the  road. 
He  agreed  to  that.  All  of  our  belongings  would 
be  put  into  it  by  the  valet  and  himself,  and  when 
we  met  we  would  make  a  circuit  and  go  by  the  way 
of  St.  Denis. 

"We  will  meet,"  I  told  him,  "at  eleven  o'clock  in 
front  of  the  Tuileries." 

Skenedonk  looked  at  me  without  moving  a 
muscle. 


WANDKRING  279 

"I  want  to  see  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  before 
I  leave  France." 

He  still  gazed  at  me. 

"At  any  risk,  I  am  going  to  the  Tuileries  to 
night!" 

My  Iroquois  grunted.  A  glow  spread  all  over 
his  copper  face  and  head.  If  I  had  told  him  I  was 
going  to  an  enemy's  central  camp  fire  to  shake  a 
club  in  the  face  of  the  biggest  chief,  he  could  not 
have  thought  more  of  my  daring  or  less  of  my  com 
mon  sense. 

"You  will  never  come  out." 

"If  I  don't,  Skenedonk,  go  without  me." 

He  passed  small  heroics  unnoticed. 

"Why  do  you  do  it?" 

I  couldn't  tell  him.  Neither  could  I  leave  Paris 
without  doing  it.  I  assured  him  many  carriages 
would  be  there,  near  the  entrance,  which  was  called, 
I  believed,  the  pavilion  of  Flora;  and  by  showing 
boldness  we  might  start  from  that  spot  as  well 
as  from  any  other.  He  abetted  the  reckless  devil  in 
me,  and  the  outcome  was  that  I  crossed  the  Seine 
bridge  by  myself  about  ten  o'clock;  remembering 
my  escape  from  Ste.  Pelagic;  remembering  I 
should  never  see  the  gargoyles  on  Notre  Dame  any 
more,  or  the  golden  dome  of  the  Invalides,  or  hear 
the  night  hum  of  Paris,  whether  I  succeeded  or 
not.  For  if  I  succeeded  I  should  be  away  toward 
the  coast  by  morning;  and  if  I  did  not  succeed,  I 
should  be  somewhere  under  arrest. 

I  can  see  the  boy  in  white  court  dress,  with  no 


&  A  %  A  R  R  E> 

hint  of  the  traveler  about  him,  who  stepped  jauntily 
out  of  a  carriage  and  added  himself  to  groups  en 
tering  the  Tuileries.  The  white  court  dress  was 
armor  which  he  put  on  to  serve  him  in  the  danger 
ous  attempt  to  look  once  more  on  a  woman's  face. 
He  mounted  with  a  strut  toward  the  guardians  of 
the  imperial  court,  not  knowing  how  he  might  be 
challenged;  and  fortune  was  with  him. 

"Lazarre!"  exclaimed  Count  de  Chaumont,  hur 
rying  behind  to  take  my  elbow.  "I  want  you  to 
help  me!" 

Remembering  with  sudden  remorse  Annabel's 
escape  and  our  wicked  dinner,  I  halted  eager  to  do 
him  service.  He  was  perhaps  used  to  Annabel's 
escapes,  for  a  very  different  annoyance  puckered 
his  forehead  as  he  drew  me  aside  within  the  en 
trance. 

"Have  you  heard  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier  is 
alive?" 

I  told  him  I  had  heard  it. 

"Damned  old  fox!  He  lay  in  hiding  until  the  es 
tates  were  recovered.  Then  out  he  creeps  to  enjoy 
them!" 

I  pressed  the  count's  hand.  We  were  one  in  dis 
approval. 

"It's  a  shame!"  said  the  count. 

It  was  a  shame,  I  said. 

"And  now  he's  posted  into  Paris  to  make  a  fool 
of  himself." 

"How?" 

"Have  you  seen  Madame  de  Ferrier?" 


WANDKRINO  281 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  her." 

"I  believe  we  are  in  time  to  intercept  him.  You 
have  a  clever  head.,  boy.  Use  it.  How  shall  we 
get  this  old  fellow  out  of  the  Tuileries  without  let 
ting  him  speak  to  the  emperor?" 

"Easily,  I  should  think,  since  Napoleon  isn't 
here." 

"Yes,  he  is.  He  dashed  into  Paris  a  little  while 
ago,  and  may  leave  to-night.  But  he  is  here." 

"Why  shouldn't  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier  speak  to 
Napoleon?" 

"Because  he  is  going-  to  make  an  ass  of  himself 
before  the  court,  and  what's  worse,  he'll  make  a 
laughing-stock  of  me." 

"How  can  he  do  that?" 

"He  is  determined  to  thank  the  emperor  for 
restoring  his  estates.  He  might  thank  the  empress, 
and  she  wouldn't  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 
But  the  emperor  knows  everything.  I  have  used 
all  the  arguments  I  dared  to  use  against  it,  but  he 
is  a  pig  for  stubbornness.  For  my  sake,  for 
Madame  de  Ferrier's  sake,  Lazarre,  help  me  to  get 
him  harmlessly  out  of  the  Tuileries,  without  mak 
ing  a  public  scandal  about  the  restitution  of  the 
land!" 

"What  scandal  can  there  be,  monsieur?  And 
why  shouldn't  he  thank  Napoleon  for  giving  him 
back  his  estates  after  the  fortunes  of  revolution 
and  war?" 

"Because  the  emperor  didn't  do  it.  I  bought 
them!" 


282  I,  A  Z  A.  R  R  B 

"You!" 

"Yes,  I  bought  them.  Come  to  that,  they  are  my 
property!" 

"Madame  de  Ferrier  doesn't  know  this?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  meant  to  settle  them  on  her. 
Saints  and  angels,  boy,  anybody  could  see  what  my 
intentions  were!" 

"Then  she  is  as  poor  as  she  was  in  America?" 

"Poorer.    She  has  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier!" 

We  two  who  loved  her,  youth  and  man,  rich  and 
powerful,  or  poor  and  fugitive,  felt  the  passionate 
need  of  protecting  her. 

"She  wouldn't  accept  them  if  she  knew  it." 

"Neither  would  the  marquis,"  said  De  Chau- 
mont.  "The  Marquis  de  Ferrier  might  live  on  the 
estates  his  lifetime  without  any  interference.  But 
if  he  will  see  the  emperor,  and  I  can't  prevent  it 
any  other  way,  I  shall  have  to  tell  him !" 

"Yes,  you  will  have  to  tell  him!" 

I  thought  of  Eagle  in  the  village,  and  the  old 
woman  who  blessed  her  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
Paul  standing  on  the  seat  to  be  worshiped.  How 
could  I  go  to  America  and  leave  her?  And  what 
could  I  do  for  her  when  a  rich  man  like  De  Chau- 
mont  was  powerless? 

"Can't  you  see  Napoleon,"  I  suggested,  "and 
ask  him  to  give  the  marquis  a  moment's  private 
audience,  and  accept  his  thanks?" 

"No!"  groaned  De  Chaumont.  "He  wouldn't  do 
it.  I  couldn't  put  myself  in  such  a  position  1" 


NDKRING  283 

"If  Napoleon  came  in  so  hurriedly  he  may  not 
show  himself  in  the  state  apartments  to-night." 

"But  he  is  accessible,  wherever  he  is.  He  doesn't 
deny  himself  to  the  meanest  soldier.  Why  should 
he  refuse  to  see  a  noble  of  the  class  he  is  always 
conciliating  when  he  can?" 

"Introduce  me  to  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier,"  I 
finally  said,  "and  let  me  see  if  I  can  talk  against 
time  while  you  get  your  emperor  out  of  his 
way." 

I  thought  desperately  of  revealing  to  the  old  roy 
alist  what  I  believed  myself  to  be,  what  Eagle  and 
he  believed  me  to  be,  and  commanding  him,  as  his 
rightful  prince,  to  content  himself  with  less  effusive 
and  less  public  gratitude  to  an  usurper.  He  would 
live  in  the  country,  shrinking  so  naturally  from  the 
court  that  a  self-imposed  appearance  there  need 
never  be  repeated. 

I  believe  this  would  have  succeeded.  A  half 
hour  more  of  time  might  have  saved  years  of  com 
fort  to  Eagle — for  De  Chaumont  was  generous — 
and  have  changed  the  outcome  of  my  own  life. 
But  in  scant  fifteen  minutes  our  fate  was  decided. 

De  Chaumont  and  I  had  moved  with  our  heads 
together,  from  corridor  to  antechamber,  from  ante 
chamber  to  curtained  salon  of  the  lower  floor.  The 
private  apartments  of  the  Bonaparte  family  were 
thrown  open,  and  in  the  mahogany  furnished  room, 
all  hung  with  yellow  satin,  I  noticed  a  Swiss  clock 
which  pointed  its  minute  finger  to  a  quarter  before 
eleven.  I  made  no  hurry.  My  errand  was  not 


284  Xv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

accomplished.  Skenedonk  would  wait  for  me,  and 
even  dare  a  search  if  he  became  suspicious. 

TKe  count,  knowing  what  Madame  de  Ferrier 
considered  me,  perhaps  knew  my  plan.  He  turned 
back  at  once  assenting. 

The  Marquis  and  Marquise  de  Ferrier  were  that 
instant  going  up  the  grand  staircase,  and  would  be 
announced.  Eagle  turned  her  face  above  me,  the 
long  line  of  her  throat  uplifted,  and  went  coura 
geous  and  smiling  on  her  way.  The  marquis  had 
adapted  himself  to  the  court  requirements  of  the 
Empire.  Noble  gentleman  of  another  period,  he 
stalked  a  piteous  masquerader  where  he  had  once 
been  at  home. 

Count  de  Chaumont  grasped  my  arm  and  we 
hurried  up  the  stairs  after  them.  The  end  of  a 
great  and  deep  room  was  visible,  and  I  had  a 
glimpse,  between  heads  and  shoulders,  of  a  woman 
standing  in  the  light  of  many  lusters.  She  parted  her 
lips  to  smile,  closing  them  quickly,  but  having 
shown  little  dark  teeth.  She  was  of  exquisite  shape, 
her  face  and  arms  and  bosom  having  a  clean  fair 
polish  like  the  delicate  whiteness  of  a  magnolia,  as  I 
have  since  seen  that  flower  in  bloom.  She  wore  a 
small  diadem  in  her  hair,  and  her  short-waisted 
robe  trailed  far  back  among  her  ladies.  I  knew 
without  being  told  that  this  was  the  empress  of  the 
French. 

De  Chaumont's  hand  was  on  my  arm,  but 
another  hand  touched  my  shoulder.  I  looked  be 
hind  me.  This  time  it  was  not  an  old  woman,  or  a 


WANDKRING  285 

laborer  in  a  blouse,  or  a  soldier;  but  I  knew  my 
pursuer  in  his  white  court  dress.  Officer  of  the  law, 
writ  in  the  lines  of  his  face,  to  my  eyes  appeared 
all  over  him. 

"Monsieur  Veeleeum!" 

As  soon  as  he  said  that  I  understood  it  was  the 
refugee  from  Ste.  Pelagic  that  he  wanted. 

"Certainly,"  I  answered.  "Don't  make  a  dis 
turbance." 

"You  will  take  my  arm  and  come  with  me,  Mon 
sieur  Veeleeum." 

"I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind  until  my  errand 
is  finished,"  I  answered  desperately. 

De  Chaumont  looked  sharply  at  the  man,  but  his 
own  salvation  required  him  to  lay  hold  on  the  mar 
quis.  As  he  did  so,  Eagle's  face  and  my  face  en 
countered  in  a  panel  of  mirror,  two  flashes  of  pal 
lor;  and  I  took  my  last  look. 

"You  will  come  with  me  now,"  said  the  gendarme 
at  my  ear. 

She  saw  him,  and  understood  his  errand. 

There  was  no  chance.  De  Chaumont  wheeled 
ready  to  introduce  me  to  the  marquis.  I  was  not 
permitted  to  speak  to  him.  But  Eagle  took  my 
right  arm  and  moved  down  the  corridor  with  me. 

Decently  and  at  once  the  disguised  gendarme  fell 
behind  where  he  could  watch  every  muscle  without 
alarming  Madame  de  Ferrier.  She  appeared  not 
to  see  him.  I  have  no  doubt  he  praised  himself  for 
his  delicacy  and  her  unconsciousness  of  my  ar 
rest. 


286  L  A  Z  A  H  R  B 

"You  must  not  think  you  can  run  away  from 
me,"  she  said. 

"I  was  coming  back,"  I  answered,  making 
talk. 

My  captor's  person  heaved  behind  me,  signifying 
that  he  silently  laughed.  He  kept  within  touch. 

"Do  you  know  the  Tuileries  well?"  inquired 
Eagle. 

"No.    I  have  never  been  in  the  palace  before." 

"Nor  I,  in  the  state  apartments." 

We  turned  from  the  corridor  into  a  suite  in 
these  upper  rooms,  the  gendarme  humoring 
Madame  de  Ferrier,  and  making  himself  one  in  the 
crowd  around  us.  De  Chaumont  and  the  Marquis 
de  Ferrier  gave  chase.  I  saw  them  following,  as 
well  as  they  could. 

"This  used  to  be  the  queen's  dressing-room," 
said  Eagle.  We  entered  the  last  one  in  the  suite. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"This  is  the  room  you  told  me  you  would  like  to 
examine?" 

"The  very  one.  I  don't  believe  the  Empire  has 
made  any  changes  in  it.  These  painted  figures  look 
just  as  Sophie  described  them." 

Eagle  traced  lightly  with  her  finger  one  of  the 
shepherdesses  dancing  on  the  panel;  and  crossed 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  People  who  passed 
the  door  found  nothing  to  interest  them,,  and  turned 
away,  but  the  gendarme  stayed  beside  us.  Eagle 
glanced  at  him  as  if  resenting  his  intrusion,  and 


WANDERING  287 

asked  me  to  bring  her  a  candle  and  hold  it  near  a 
mark  on  the  tracery.  The  gendarme  himself,  apol 
ogetic  but  firm,  stepped  to  the  sconce  and  took  the 
candle.  I  do  not  know  how  the  thing  was  done,  or 
why  the  old  spring  and  long  unused  hinges  did  not 
stick,  but  his  back  was  toward  us — she  pushed  me 
against  the  panel  and  it  let  me  in. 

And  I  held  her  and  drew  her  after  me,  and  the 
thing  closed.  The  wall  had  swallowed  us. 

We  stood  on  firm  footing  as  if  suspended  in  eter 
nity.  No  sound  from  the  swarming  palace,  not 
even  possible  noise  made  by  the  gendarme,  reached 
us.  It  was  like  being  earless,  until  she  spoke  in  the 
hollow. 

"Here's  the  door  on  the  staircase,  but  it  will  not 
open!" 

I  groped  over  every  inch  of  it  with  swift  haste 
in  the  blackness. 

"Hurry — hurry!"  she  breathed.  "He  may  touch 
the  spring  himself — it  moves  instantly!" 

"Does  this  open  with  a  spring,  too?" 

"I  don't  know.    Sophie  didn't  know!" 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  any  door  here?" 

"She  told  me  there  was." 

"This  is  like  a  door,  but  it  will  not  move." 

It  sprang  inward  against  us,  a  rush  of  air  and  a 
hollow  murmur  as  of  wind  along  the  river,  follow 
ing  it. 

"Go — be  quick!"  said  Madame  de  Ferrier, 

"But  how  will  you  get  out?" 

*'I  shall  get  out  when  you  are  gone.* 


288  1^  A.  Z  A.  R  R  B 

"O,  Eagle,  forgive  me!"  (Yet  I  would  have 
dragged  her  in  with  me  again !) 

"I  am  in  no  danger.  You  are  in  danger.  Good 
bye,  my  liege." 

Cautiously  she  pushed  me  through  the  door,  beg 
ging  me  to  feel  for  every  step.  I  stood  upon  the 
top  one,  and  held  to  her  as  I  had  held  to  her  in 
passing  through  the  other  wall. 

I  thought  of  the  heavy  days  before  her  and  the 
blank  before  me.  I  could  not  let  go  her  wrists. 
We  were  fools  to  waste  our  youth.  I  could  work 
for  her  in  America.  My  vitals  were  being  torn  from 
me.  I  should  go  to  the  devil  without  her.  I  don't 
know  what  I  said.  But  I  knew  the  brute  love  which 
had  risen  like  a  lion  in  me  would  never  conquer 
the  woman  who  kissed  me  in  the  darkness  and  held 
me  at  bay. 

"O  Louis — O  Lazarre!  Think  of  Paul  and  Cousin 
Philippe!  You  shall  be  your  best  for  your  little 
mother!  I  will  come  to  you  sometime!" 

Then  she  held  the  door  between  us,  and  I  went 
down  around  and  around  the  spiral  of  stone. 


BOOK  III 


ARRIVING 


I 


EVEN  when  a  year  had  passed  I  sard  of  my 
escape  from  the  Tuileries :  "It  was  a  dream. 
How  could  it  have  happened?"  For  the  adven 
tures  of  my  wandering  fell  from  me  like  a  garment, 
leaving  the  one  changeless  passion. 

Skenedonk  and  I  met  on  the  ship  a  New  England 
minister,  who  looked  upon  and  considered  us  from 
day  to  day.  I  used  to  sit  in  the  stern,  the  miles 
stretching  me  as  a  rack  stretches  flesh  and  tendons. 
The  minister  regarded  me  as  prostrated  by  the 
spider  bite  of  that  wicked  Paris;  out  of  which  he 
learned  I  had  come,  by  talking  to  my  Oneida. 

The  Indian  and  I  were  a  queer  pair  that  inter 
ested  him,  and  when  he  discovered  that  I  bore  the 
name  of  Eleazar  Williams  his  friendship  was  sealed 
to  us.  Eunice  Williams  of  Deerfield,  the  grand 
mother  of  Thomas  Williams,  was  a  traditional 
brand  never  snatched  from  the  burning,  in  the  min 
ister's  town  of  Longmeadow,  where  nearly  every 
inhabitant  was  descended  from  or  espoused  to  a 
Williams.  Though  he  himself  was  born  Storrs, 
his  wife  was  born  Williams;  and  I  could  have  lain 
at  his  feet  and  cried,  so  open  was  the  heart  of  this 
good  man  to  a  wanderer  rebounding  from  a  family 
that  disowned  the  pretender.  He  was  my  welcome 
back  to  America.  The  breath  of  eastern  pines, 
and  the  resinous  sweetness  of  western  plains  I  had 

291 


292  Iv  A.  Z  A.  R  R  K 

not  yet  seen,  but  which  drew  me  so  that  I  could 
scarcely  wait  to  land,  came  to  me  with  that  man. 
Before  the  voyage  ended  I  had  told  him  my  whole 
history  as  far  as  I  knew  it,  except  the  story  of 
Madame  de  Ferrier;  and  the  beginning  of  it  was 
by  no  means  new  to  him.  The  New  England  Wil- 
liamses  kept  a  prayerful  eye  on  that  branch  de 
scending  through  the  Iroquois.  This  transplanted 
Briton,  returning  from  his  one  memorable  visit  to 
the  England  of  his  forefathers,  despised  my  Bour 
bon  claims,  and  even  the  French  contraction  of 
my  name. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Eleazar?"  he  in 
quired. 

Hugging  my  old  dream  to  myself,  feeling  my 
heart  leap  toward  that  western  empire  which  must 
fascinate  a  young  man  as  long  as  there  remain  any 
western  lands  to  possess,  I  told  him  I  intended  to 
educate  our  Iroquois  as  soon  as  I  could  prepare 
myself  to  do  it,  and  settle  them  where  they  could 
grow  into  a  greater  nation. 

The  man  of  God  kindled  in  the  face.  He  was  a 
dark-eyed,  square-browed,  serious  man,  with  black 
hair  falling  below  his  white  band.  His  mouth  had  a 
sweet  benign  expression,  even  when  he  quizzed  me 
about  my  dauphinhood.  A  New  England  pastor 
was  a  flame  that  burned  for  the  enlightenment  of 
the  nations.  From  that  hour  it  was  settled  that  I 
should  be  his  pupil,  and  go  with  him  to  Long- 
meadow  to  finish  my  education. 

When  we  landed  he  helped  me  to  sell  my  Baby- 


ARRIVING  293 

lonish  clothes,  except  the  white  court  dress,  to 
which  I  clung  with  tenacity  displeasing  to  him,  and 
garb  myself  in  more  befitting  raiment.  By  Skene- 
donk's  hand  I  sent  some  of  the  remaining  gold 
coins  to  my  mother  Marianne  and  the  chief,  when 
he  rejoined  the  tribe  and  went  to  pass  the  winter 
at  St.  Regis.  And  by  no  means  did  I  forget  to  tell 
him  to  bring  me  letters  from  De  Chaumont's 
manor  in  the  spring,  if  any  arrived  there  for  me. 

How  near  to  heaven  the  New  England  village 
seemed,  with  Mount  Tom  on  the  horizon  glorious 
as  Mount  Zion,  the  mighty  sweep  of  meadow  land, 
the  Connecticut  river  flowing  in  great  peace,  the 
broad  street  of  elms  like  some  gigantic  cathedral 
nave,  and  in  its  very  midst  a  shrine — the  meeting 
house,  double-decked  with  fan-topped  windows. 

Religion  and  education  were  the  mainsprings  of 
its  life.  Pastor  Storrs  worked  in  his  study  nearly 
nine  hours  a  day,  and  spent  the  remaining  hours 
in  what  he  called  visitation  of  his  flock. 

This  being  lifted  out  of  Paris  and  plunged  into 
Longmeadow  was  the  pouring  of  white  hot  metal 
into  chill  moulds.  It  cast  me.  With  a  seething  and 
a  roar  of  loosened  forces,  the  boy  passed  to  the  man. 

Nearly  every  night  during  all  those  years  of 
changing,  for  even  faithfulness  has  its  tides,  I  put 
the  snuffbox  under  my  pillow,  and  Madame  de 
Ferrier's  key  spoke  to  my  ear.  I  would  say  to  my 
self:  "The  one  I  love  gave  me  this  key.  Did  I 
ever  sit  beside  her  on  a  ledge  of  stone  overlooking 
a  sunken  garden? — so  near  that  I  might  have 


294  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  H 

touched  her!  Does  she  ever  think  of  the  dauphin 
Louis?  Where  is  she?  Does  she  know  that  La- 
zarre  has  become  Eleazar  Williams?" 

The  pastor's  house  was  fronted  with  huge  white 
fluted  pillars  of  wood,  upholding  a  porch  roof  which 
shaded  the  second  floor  windows.  The  doors  in 
that  house  had  a  short-waisted  effect  with  little  pan 
els  above  and  long  panels  below.  I  had  a  chamber 
so  clean  and  small  that  I  called  it  in  my  mind  the 
Monk's  Cell,  nearly  filled  with  the  high  posted  bed, 
the  austere  table  and  chairs.  The  whitewashed 
walls  were  bare  of  pictures,  except  a  painted  por 
trait  of  Stephen  Williams,  pastor  of  Longmeadow 
from  1718  to  1783.  Daily  his  laughing  eyes  watched 
me  as  if  he  found  my  pretensions  a  great  joke.  He 
had  a  long  nose,  and  a  high  forehead.  His  black 
hair  crinkled,  and  a  merry  crease  drew  its  half  circle 
from  one  cheek  around  under  his  chin  to  the  other. 

Longmeadow  did  not  receive  me  without  much 
question  and  debate.  There  were  Williamses  in 
every  direction;  disguised,  perhaps,  for  that  gen 
eration,  under  the  names  of  Cooley,  Stebbins,  Col 
ter,  Ely,  Hole,  and  so  on.  A  stately  Sarah  Wil 
liams,  as  Mrs.  Storrs,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  pastor's 
table.  Her  disapproval  was  a  force,  though  it  never 
manifested  itself  except  in  withdrawal.  If  Mrs. 
Storrs  had  drawn  back  from  me  while  I  lived  under 
her  roof,  I  should  have  felt  an  outcast  indeed.  The 
subtle  refinement  of  those  Longmeadow  women 
was  like  the  hinted  sweetness  of  arbutus  flower. 
Breeding  passed  from  generation  to  generation. 


ARRIVING*  295 

They  had  not  mixed  their  blood  with  the  blood  of 
any  outsiders;  and  their  forbears  were  English 
yeomen. 

I  threw  myself  into  books  as  I  had  done  during 
my  first  months  at  De  Chaumont's,  before  I  grew 
to  think  of  Madame  de  Ferrier.  One  of  those  seven 
years  I  spent  at  Dartmouth.  But  the  greater  part 
of  my  knowledge  I  owe  to  Pastor  Storrs.  Greek 
and  Hebrew  he  gave  me  to  add  to  the  languages  I 
was  beginning  to  own;  and  he  unlocked  all  his 
accumulations  of  learning.  It  was  a  monk's  life 
that  I  lived;  austere  and  without  incident,  but  brac 
ing  as  the  air  of  the  hills.  The  whole  system  was 
monastic,  though  abomination  alighted  on  that 
word  in  Longmeadow.  I  took  the  discipline  into 
my  blood.  It  will  go  down  to  those  after  me. 

There  a  man  had  to  walk  with  God  whether  he 
wanted  to  or  not. 

Living  was  inexpensive,  each  item  being  gaged 
by  careful  housekeeping.  It  was  a  sin  to  gorge 
the  body,  and  godly  conversation  was  better  than 
abundance.  Yet  the  pastor's  tea-table  arises  with 
a  halo  around  it.  The  rye  and  Indian  bread,  the 
doughnuts  fragrant  as  flowers,  the  sparing  tea,  the 
prim  mats  which  saved  the  cloth,  the  wire  screen 
covering  sponge  cake — how  sacred  they  seem! 

The  autumn  that  I  came  to  Longmeadow,  Napo 
leon  Bonaparte  was  beaten  on  the  sea  by  the  Eng 
lish,  but  won  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  defeating  the 
Russian  coalition  and  changing  the  map  of  Europe. 

I  felt  sometimes  a  puppet  while  this  man  played 


296  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

his  great  part.  It  was  no  comfort  that  others  of 
my  house  were  nothing  to  France.  Though  I  did 
not  see  Louis  Philippe  again,  he  wandered  in 
America  two  or  three  years,  and  went  back  Co  pri 
vacy. 

During  my  early  novitiate  at  Longmeadow, 
Aaron  Burr's  conspiracy  went  to  pieces,  dragging 
down  with  it  that  pleasant  gentleman,  Harmon 
Blennerhassett,  startling  men  like  Jackson,  who 
had  best  befriended  him  unawares.  But  this  in 
nowise  affected  my  own  plans  of  empire.  The 
solidarity  of  a  nation  of  Indians  on  a  remote  tract 
could  be  no  menace  to  the  general  government. 

Skenedonk  came  and  went,  and  I  made  journeys 
to  my  people  with  him.  But  there  was  never  any 
letter  waiting  at  De  Chaumont's  for  me.  After 
some  years  indeed,  the  count  having  returned  to 
Castorland,  to  occupy  his  new  manor  at  Le  Ray- 
ville,  the  mansion  I  had  known  was  torn  down  and 
the  stone  converted  to  other  uses.  Skenedonk 
brought  me  word  early  that  Mademoiselle  de  Chau- 
mont  had  been  married  to  an  officer  of  the  Empire, 
and  would  remain  in  France. 

The  door  between  my  past  and  me  was  sealed. 
Madame  de  Ferrier  stood  on  the  other  side  of  it, 
and  no  news  from  her  penetrated  its  dense  barrier. 
I  tried  to  write  letters  to  her.  But  nothing  that 
I  could  write  was  fit  to  send,  and  I  knew  not  wheth 
er  she  was  yet  at  Mont-Louis.  Forever  she  was 
holding  the  door  against  me. 

Skenedonk,  coming  and  going  at    his  caprice, 


ARRIVING  297 

stayed  a  month  in  every  year  at  Longmeadow, 
where  the  townspeople,  having  had  a  surfeit  of  abo 
riginal  names,  called  him  John.  He  raised  no 
objection,  for  that  with  half  a  dozen  other  Christian 
titles  had  been  bestowed  on  him  in  baptism;  and 
he  entered  the  godly  list  of  Williamses  as  John 
Williams. 

The  first  summer  I  spent  in  Longmeadow  there 
was  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  about  the  middle  of  June. 
I  remember  lying  on  open  land,  my  book  on  its 
face  beside  me,  and  watching  it  through  my  eye 
lashes;  until  the  weird  and  awful  twilight  of  a 
blotted  sun  in  mid-heaven  sent  birds  and  beasts  to 
shelter  as  from  wrath.  When  there  was  but  a  hairy 
shining  around  the  orbed  blackness,  and  stars 
trembled  out  and  trembled  back,  as  if  they  said: 
"We  are  here.  The  old  order  will  return,"  and 
the  earth  held  its  breath  at  threat  of  eternal  dark 
ness,  the  one  I  loved  seemed  to  approach  in  the 
long  shadows.  It  was  a  sign  that  out  of  the  worst 
comes  the  best.  But  it  was  a  terror  to  the  unpre 
pared;  and  Pastor  Storrs  preached  about  it  the 
following  Sunday. 

The  missionary  spirit  of  Longmeadow  stirred 
among  the  Williamses,  and  many  of  them  brought 
what  they  called  their  mites  to  Pastor  Storrs  for 
my  education.  If  I  were  made  a  king  no  revenue 
could  be  half  so  sweet  as  that.  The  village  was 
richer  than  many  a  stonier  New  England  place, 
but  men  were  struggling  then  all  over  the  wide 
states  and  territories  for  material  existence. 


298  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

The  pension  no  longer  came  from  Europe.  It 
ceased  when  I  returned  from  France.  Its  former 
payment  was  considered  apocryphal  by  Long- 
meadow,  whose  very  maids — too  white,  with  a  pink 
spot  in  each  cheek — smiled  with  reserved  amuse 
ment  at  a  student  who  thought  it  possible  he  could 
ever  be  a  king.  I  spoke  to  nobody  but  Pastor 
Storrs  about  my  own  convictions.  But  local  news 
papers,  with  their  omniscient  grip  on  what  is  in  the 
air,  bandied  the  subject  back  and  forth. 

We  sometimes  walked  in  the  burying  ground 
among  dead  Williamses,  while  he  argued  down 
my  claims,  leaving  them  without  a  leg  to  stand  on. 
Reversing  the  usual  ministerial  formula,  "If  what 
has  been  said  is  true,  then  it  follows,  first,  sec 
ondly,"  and  so  on,  he  used  to  say: 

"Eleazar,  you  were  brought  up  among  the  In 
dians,  conscious  only  of  bodily  existence,  and  un 
conscious  of  your  origin;  granted.  Money  was 
sent — let  us  say  from  Europe — for  your  support; 
granted.  Several  persons,  among  them  one  who 
testified  strongly  against  his  will,  told  you  that  you 
resembled  the  Bourbons;  granted.  You  bear  on 
your  person  marks  like  those  which  were  inflicted 
on  the  unfortunate  dauphin  of  France;  granted. 
You  were  malignantly  pursued  while  abroad; 
granted.  But  what  does  it  all  prove?  Nothing.  It 
amounts  simply  to  this:  you  know  nothing  about 
your  early  years;  some  foreign  person — perhaps 
an  English  Williams — kindly  interested  himself  in 
your  upbringing;  you  were  probably  scalded  in 


ARRIVINdr 

the  cartips;  you  have  some  accidental  traits  of  the 
Bourbons;  a  man  who  heard  you  had  a  larger 
pension  than  the  idiot  he  was  tending,  disliked  you. 
You  can  prove  nothing  more." 

I  never  attempted  to  prove  anything  more  to  Pas 
tor  Storrs.  It  would  have  been  most  ungrateful  to 
persuade  him  I  was  an  alien.  At  the  same  time  he 
prophesied  his  hopes  of  me,  and  many  a  judicious 
person  blamed  him  for  treating  me  as  something 
out  of  the  ordinary,  and  cockering  up  pride. 

A  blunter  Williams  used  to  take  me  by  the  but 
ton  on  the  street. 

"Eleazar  Williams,"  he  would  say^  "do  you  pre 
tend  to  be  the  son  of  the  French  king?  I  tell  you 
what!  I  will  not  let  the  name  of  Williams  be  dis 
graced  by  any  relationship  to  any  French  mon 
arch  !  You  must  do  one  of  two  things :  you  must 
either  renounce  Williamsism  or  renounce  Bourbon- 
ism!" 

Though  there  was  liberty  of  conscience  to  criti 
cise  the  pastor,  he  was  autocrat  of  Longmeadow. 
One  who  preceded  Pastor  Storrs  had  it  told  about 
him  that  two  of  his  deacons  wanted  him  to  appoint 
Ruling  Elders.  He  appointed  them;  and  asked 
them  what  they  thought  the  duties  were.  They 
said  he  knew  best. 

"Well,"  said  the  pastor,  "one  of  the  Ruling  El 
ders  may  come  to  my  house  before  meeting,  saddle 
my  horse,  and  hold  the  stirrup  while  I  get  on.  The 
other  may  wait  at  the  church  door  and  hold  him 
while  I  get  off,  and  after  meeting  bring  him  to  the 


30O  IvAZARRK 

steps.  This  is  all  of  my  work  that  I  can  consent  to 
let  Ruling  Elders  do  for  me." 

The  Longmeadow  love  of  disputation  was  fos 
tered  by  bouts  which  Ruling  Elders  might  have 
made  it  their  business  to  preserve,  if  any  Ruling 
Elders  were  willing  to  accept  their  appointment. 
The  pastor  once  went  to  the  next  town  to  enjoy 
argument  with  a  scientific  doctor.  When  he 
mounted  his  horse  to  ride  home  before  nightfall 
the  two  friends  kept  up  their  debate.  The  doctor 
stood  by  the  horse,  or  walked  a  few  steps  as  the 
horse  moved.  Presently  both  men  noticed  a  fire 
in  the  east;  and  it  was  sunrise.  They  had  argued 
all  night. 

In  Longmeadow  a  man  could  not  help  practicing 
argument.  I  also  practiced  oratory.  And  all  the 
time  I  practiced  the  Iroquois  tongue  as  well  as 
English  and  French,  and  began  the  translation  of 
books  into  the  language  of  the  nation  I  hoped  to 
build.  That  Indians  made  unstable  material  for 
the  white  man  to  handle  I  would  not  believe.  Sken- 
edonk  was  not  unstable.  His  faithfulness  was  a 
rock. 

For  some  reason,  and  I  think  it  was  the  reach  of 
Pastor  Storrs,  men  in  other  places  began  to  seek 
me.  The  vital  currents  of  life  indeed  sped  through 
us  on  the  Hartford  and  Springfield  stage  road.  It 
happened  that  Skenedonk  and  I  were  making  my 
annual  journey  to  St.  Regis  when  the  first  steam 
boat  accomplished  its  trip  on  the  Hudson  river. 
About  the  time  that  the  Wisconsin  country  was  in- 


A.RRIVINQ  301 

eluded  in  Illinois  Territory,  I  decided  to  write  a 
letter  to  Madame  Tank  at  Green  Bay,  and  insist  on 
knowing  my  story  as  she  believed  she  knew  it.  Yet 
I  hesitated;  and  finally  did  not  do  it.  I  found 
afterwards  that  there  was  no  post-office  at  Green 
Bay.  A  carrier,  sent  by  the  officers  of  the  fort  and 
villagers,  brought  mail  from  Chicago.  He  had  two 
hundred  miles  of  wilderness  to  traverse,  and  his 
blankets  and  provisions  as  well  as  the  mail  to  carry; 
and  he  did  this  at  the  risk  of  his  life  among  wild 
men  and  beasts. 

The  form  of  religion  was  always  a  trivial  matter 
to  me.  I  never  ceased  to  love  the  sacrifice  of  the 
mass,  which  was  an  abomination  and  an  idolatrous 
practice  to  Pastor  Storrs.  The  pageantry  of  the 
Roman  Church  that  first  mothered  and  nurtured 
me  touches  me  to  this  day.  I  love  the  Protestant 
prayers  of  the  English  Church.  And  I  love  the 
stern  and  knotty  argument,  the  sermon  with  heads 
and  sequences,  of  the  New  England  Congregation- 
alist.  For  this  catholicity  Catholics  have  upbraided 
me,  churchmen  rebuked  me,  and  dissenters  denied 
that  I  had  any  religion  at  all. 

When  the  Episcopal  Bishop  of  New  York 
showed  me  kindness,  and  Pastor  Storrs  warned  me 
against  being  proselyted,  I  could  not  tell  him  the 
charm  in  the  form  of  worship  practiced  by  the 
woman  I  loved.  There  was  not  a  conscious  minute 
when  I  forgot  her.  Yet  nobody  in  Longmeadow 
knew  of  her  existence.  In  my  most  remorseful 
days,  comparing  myself  with  Pastor  Storrs,  I  was 


302  Iv  A.  Z  A.  R  R  K 

never  sorry  I  had  clung  to  her  and  begged  her 
not  to  let  me  go  alone.  For  some  of  our  sins  are 
so  honestly  the  expression  of  nature  that  justifi 
cation  breaks  through  them. 

On  the  western  border  there  was  trouble  with 
dissatisfied  Indians,  and  on  the  sea  there  was 
trouble  with  the  British,  so  that  people  began  to 
talk  of  war  long  before  it  was  declared,  and  to 
blame  President  Madison  for  his  over-caution  in 
affairs.  A  battle  was  fought  at  Tippecanoe  in  the 
Indiana  Territory,  which  silenced  the  Indians  for  a 
while.  But  every  one  knew  that  the  English  stood 
behind  them.  Militia  was  mustered,  the  army  re 
cruited,  and  embargo  laid  upon  shipping  in  the 
ports,  and  all  things  were  put  forward  in  April  of 
that  year,  before  war  was  declared  in  June. 

I  had  influence  with  our  tribes.  The  Govern 
ment  offered  me  a  well  paid  commission  to  act  as 
its  secret  agent.  Pastor  Storrs  and  the  Williamses, 
who  had  been  nurturing  a  missionary,  were  smitten 
with  grief  to  see  him  rise  and  leap  into  camps  and 
fields,  eager  for  the  open  world,  the  wilderness 
smell;  the  council,  where  the  red  man's  mind,  a 
trembling  balance,  could  be  turned  by  vivid  lan 
guage;  eager,  in  fact,  to  live  where  history  was 
being  made. 

The  pastor  had  clothed  me  in  his  mind  with  min 
isterial  gown  and  band,  and  the  martial  blood  that 
quickened  he  counted  an  Iroquois  strain.  Yet  so 
inconsistent  is  human  nature,  so  given  to  forms 
which  it  calls  creeds,  that  when  I  afterwards  put 


ARRIVINQ  3°3 

on  the  surplice  and  read  prayers  to  my  adopted 
people,  he  counted  it  as  great  a  defection  as  taking 
to  saddle  and  spur.  We  cannot  leave  the  expression 
of  our  lives  to  those  better  qualified  than  we  are, 
however  dear  they  may  be.  I  had  to  pack  my 
saddlebags  and  be  gone,  loving  Longmeadow  none 
the  less  because  I  grieved  it,  knowing  that  it  would 
not  approve  of  me  more  if  I  stayed  and  failed  to  do 
my  natural  part. 

The  snuffbox  and  the  missal  which  had  belonged 
to  my  family  in  France  I  always  carried  with  me. 
And  very  little  could  be  transported  on  the  road 
we  took. 

John  Williams,  who  came  to  Longmeadow  in 
deerskins,  and  paraded  his  burnished  red  poll 
among  the  hatted  Williamses,  abetted  me  in  turn 
ing  from  the  missionary  field  to  the  arena  of  war, 
and  never  left  me.  It  was  Skenedonk  who  served 
the  United  States  with  brawn  and  endurance,  while 
I  put  such  policy  and  color  into  my  harangues  as  I 
could  command.  We  shared  our  meals,  our  camps, 
our  beds  of  leaves  together.  The  life  at  Long- 
meadow  had  knit  me  to  good  use.  I  could  fast  or 
feast,  ride  or  march,  take  the  buckskins,  or  the 
soldier's  uniform. 

Of  this  service  I  shall  write  down  only  what  goes 
to  the  making  of  the  story.  The  Government  was 
pleased  to  commend  it,  and  it  may  be  found  written 
in  other  annals  than  mine. 

Great  latitude  was  permitted  us  in  our  orders. 
We  spent  a  year  in  the  north.  My  skin  darkened 


304  Iv  A.  Z  A.  R  R  B 

and  toughened  under  exposure  until  I  said  to  Sken- 
edonk,  "I  am  turning  an  Indian;"  and  he,  jealous 
of  my  French  blood,  denied  it. 

In  July  we  had  to  thread  trails  he  knew  by  the 
lake  toward  Sandusky.  There  was  no  horse  path 
wide  enough  for  us  to  ride  abreast.  Brush  swished 
along  our  legs,  and  green  walls  shut  our  view  on 
each  Ude.  The  land  dipped  towards  its  basin. 
Buckeye  and  gigantic  chestnut  trees,  maple  and 
oak,  passed  us  from  rank  to  rank  of  endless  forest. 
Skent-donk  rode  ahead,  watching  for  every  sign 
and  change,  as  a  pilot  now  watches  the  shifting  of 
the  current.  So  we  had  done  all  day,  and  so  we 
were  doing  when  fading  light  warned  us  to  camp. 

A  voice  literally  cried  out  of  the  wilderness,  start 
ling  the  horses  and  ringing  among  the  tree  trunks: 

"The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  and  He  hath 
anointed  me  to  blow  the  trumpet  in  the  wilderness, 
and  sound  an  alarm  in  the  forest;  for  behold  the 
tribes  of  the  heathen  are  round  about  your  doors, 
and  a  devouring  flame  follow eth  after  them!" 


II 


HAT'S  Johnny  Appleseed,"  said  Skene- 
donk,  turning  in  his  saddle. 

"What  is  Johnny  Appleseed?" 

"He  is  a  man  that  God  has  touched,"  said  Skene- 
donk,  using  the  aboriginal  phrase  that  signified  a 
man  clouded  in  mind. 

God  had  hidden  him,  too.  I  could  see  no  one. 
The  voice  echo  still  went  off  among  the  trees. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Maybe  one  side,  maybe  the  other." 

"Does  he  never  show  himself?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Skenedonk  said.  "He  goes  to  all  the 
settlements.  I  have  often  seen  him  when  I  was 
hunting  on  these  grounds.  He  came  to  our  camp. 
He  loves  to  sleep  outdoors  better  than  in  a  cabin." 

"Why  does  he  shout  at  us  like  a  prophet?" 

"To  warn  us  that  Indians  are  on  the  warpath." 

"He  might  have  thought  we  were  on  the  warpath 
ourselves." 

"Johnny  Appleseed  knows  Shawanoes  and  Te- 
cumseh's  men." 

The  trees,  lichened  on  their  north  sides,  massed 
rank  behind  rank  without  betraying  any  face  in 
their  glooms.  The  Ohio  and  Indiana  forests  had 
a  nameless  quality.  They  might  have  been  called 
home-forests,  such  invitations  issued  from  them  to 

305 


306  1^  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

man  seeking  a  spot  of  his  own.  Nor  can  I  make 
clear  what  this  invitation  was.  It  produced  thoughts 
different  from  those  that  men  were  conscious  of  in 
the  rugged  northwest. 

"I  think  myself,"  said  Skenedonk,  as  we  moved 
farther  from  the  invisible  voice,  "that  he  is  under  a 
vow.  But  nobody  told  me  that." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"He  plants  orchards  in  every  fine  open  spot; 
or  clears  the  land  for  planting  where  he  thinks  the 
soil  is  right." 

"Don't  other  men  plant  orchards?" 

"No.  They  have  not  time,  or  seed.  They  plant 
bread.  He  does  nothing  but  plant  orchards." 

"He  must  have  a  great  many." 

"They  are  not  for  himself.  The  apples  are  for 
any  one  who  may  pass  by  when  they  are  ripe.  He 
wants  to  give  apples  to  everybody.  Animals  often 
nibble  the  bark,  or  break  down  his  young  trees.  It 
takes  long  for  them  to  grow.  But  he  keeps  on 
planting." 

"If  other  men  have  no  seeds  to  plant,  how  does 
he  get  them?" 

"He  makes  journeys  to  the  old  settlements, 
where  many  orchards  have  grown,  and  brings  the 
seeds  from  ciderpresses.  He  carries  them  from 
Pennsylvania  on  his  back,  in  leather  bags,  a  bag 
for  each  kind  of  seed." 

"Doesn't  he  ever  sell  them?" 

"Not  often.  Johnny  Appleseed  cares  nothing  for 
money.  I  believe  he  is  under  a  vow  of  poverty. 


A.RRIVINO  307 

No  one  laughs  at  him.  The  tribes  on  these  grounds 
would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head,  not  only  because 
God  has  touched  him,  but  because  he  plants  apples. 
I  have  eaten  his  apples  myself." 

"Johnny  Appleseed!"  I  repeated,  and  Skenedonk 
hastened  to  tell  rne: 

"He  has  another  name,  but  I  forget  it.  He  is 
called  Johnny  Appleseed." 

The  slim  and  scarcely  perceptible  tunnel,  among 
trees,  piled  with  fallen  logs  and  newly  sprung 
growths,  let  us  into  a  wide  clearing  as  suddenly  as 
a  stream  finds  its  lake.  We  could  not  see  even  the 
usual  cow  tracks.  A  cabin  shedding  light  from  its 
hearth  surprised  us  in  the  midst  of  stumps. 

The  door  stood  wide.  A  woman  walked  back 
and  forth  over  a  puncheon  floor,  tending  supper. 
Dogs  rushed  to  meet  us,  and  the  playing  of  children 
could  be  heard.  A  man,  gun  in  hand,  stepped  to  his 
door,  a  sentinel.  He  lowered  its  muzzle,  and  made 
us  welcome,  and  helped  us  put  our  horses  under 
shelter  with  his  own. 

It  was  not  often  we  had  a  woman's  handiwork 
in  corn  bread  and  game  to  feed  ourselves  upon,  or 
a  bed  covered  with  homespun  sheets. 

I  slept  as  the  children  slept,  until  a  voice  rang  in 
the  clearing: 

"The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  and  He  hath 
anointed  me  to  blow  the  trumpet  in  the  wilderness, 
and  sound  an  alarm  in  the  forest;  for  behold  the 
tribes  of  the  heathen  are  round  about  your  doors, 
and  a  devouring  flame  followeth  after  them!" 


308  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E} 

"Every  sleeper  in  the  cabin  sat  upright  or  stirred. 
We  said  in  whispered  chorus: 

"Johnny  Appleseed!" 

A  tapping,  light  and  regular,  on  the  window,  fol 
lowed.  The  man  was  on  the  floor  in  a  breath.  I 
heard  the  mother  groping  among  the  children,  and 
whispering: 

"Don't  wake  the  baby!" 

The  fire  had  died  upon  the  hearth,  and  they 
lighted  no  candle.  When  Johnny  Appleseed  gave 
his  warning  cry  in  the  clearing,  and  his  cautious 
tap  on  the  window,  and  was  instantly  gone  to  other 
clearings  and  other  windows,  it  meant  that  the  In 
dians  were  near. 

Skenedonk  and  I,  used  to  the  night  alarm  and 
boots  and  saddle  in  a  hurry,  put  ourselves  in  readi 
ness  to  help  the  family.  I  groped  for  clothing,  and 
shoved  small  legs  and  arms  into  it.  The  little 
creatures,  obedient  and  silent,  made  no  whimper  at 
being  roused  out  of  dreams,  but  keenly  lent  them 
selves  to  the  march. 

We  brought  the  horses,  and  put  the  woman  and 
children  upon  them.  The  very  dogs  understood, 
and  slunk  around  our  legs  without  giving  mouth. 
The  cabin  door  was  shut  after  us  without  noise, 
closing  in  what  that  family  called  home;  a  few 
pots  and  pans;  patchwork  quilts;  a  spinning- 
wheel;  some  benches;  perhaps  a  child's  store  of 
acorn  cups  and  broken  yellow  ware  in  a  log  cor 
ner.  In  a  few  hours  it  might  be  smoking  a  heap  of 
ashes;  and  the  world  offered  no  other  place  so 


ARRIVINQ  309 

dear.  What  we  suffer  for  is  enriched  by  our  suf 
fering  until  it  becomes  priceless. 

So  far  on  the  frontier  was  this  cabin  that  no 
community  block-house  stood  near  enough  to  give 
its  inmates  shelter.  They  were  obliged  to  go  with 
us  to  Fort  Stephenson. 

Skenedonk  pioneered  the  all-night  struggle  on  an 
obscure  trail;  and  he  went  astray  sometimes, 
through  blackness  of  woods  that  roofed  out  the 
stars.  We  floundered  in  swales  sponging  full  of 
dead  leaves,  and  drew  back,  scratching  ourselves  on 
low-hung  foliage. 

By  dawn  the  way  became  easier  and  the  danger 
greater.  Then  we  paused  and  lifted  our  rifles  if 
a  twig  broke  near  by,  or  a  fox  barked,  or  wind 
rushed  among  leaves  as  a  patter  of  moccasins  might 
come.  Skenedonk  and  I,  sure  of  the  northern  In 
dians,  were  making  a  venture  in  the  west.  We  knew 
nothing  of  Tecumseh's  swift  red  warriors,  except 
that  scarcely  a  year  had  passed  since  his  allies  had 
tomahawked  women  and  children  of  the  garrison 
on  the  sand  beach  at  Chicago. 

Without  kindling  any  fire  we  stopped  once  that 
day  to  eat,  and  by  good  luck  and  following  the 
river,  reached  that  Lower  Sandusky  which  was 
called  Fort  Stephenson,  about  nightfall. 

The  place  was  merely  a  high  stockade  with  block 
houses  at  the  angles,  and  a  gate  opening  toward 
the  river.  Within,  besides  the  garrison  of  a  hun 
dred  and  sixty  men,  were  various  refugees,  driven 
like  our  family  to  the  fort.  And  there,  coming 


310  vZARRK 

heartily  from  the  commandant's  quarters  to  receive 
me,  was  George  Croghan,  still  a  boy  in  appearance, 
though  intrusted  with  this  dangerous  post.  His 
long  face  had  darkened  like  mine.  We  looked 
each  other  over  with  the  quick  and  critical  scrutiny 
of  men  who  have  not  met  since  boyhood,  and 
laughed  as  we  grasped  hands. 

"You  are  as  welcome  to  the  inside  of  this  bear- 
pen,"  said  Major  Croghan,  "as  you  made  me  to  the 
outside  of  the  one  in  the  wilderness." 

"I  hope  you'll  not  give  me  such  another  tramp 
after  shelter  for  the  night  as  I  gave  you,"  I  said. 

"The  best  in  Fort  Stephenson  is  yours.  But 
your  rest  depends  on  the  enemy.  A  runner  has 
just  come  in  from  the  General  warning  me  Proctor 
and  Tecumseh  are  turning  their  attention  this  way. 
I'm  ordered  to  evacuate,  for  the  post  is  considered 
too  weak  to  hold." 

"How  soon  do  you  march?" 

"I  don't  march  at  all.  I  stay  here.  I'm  going  to 
disobey  orders." 

"If  you're  going  to  disobey  orders,  you  have 
good  reason  for  doing  so." 

"I  have.  It  was  too  late  to  retreat.  I'm  going 
to  fight.  I  hear,  Lazarre,  you  know  how  to  handle 
Indians  in  the  French  way." 

"My  dear  Croghan,  you  insinuate  the  American 
way  may  be  better." 

"It  is,  on  the  western  border.  It  may  not  be  on 
the  northern." 


ARRIVIKO 

"Then  you  would  not  have  advised  my  attempt 
ing  the  Indians  here?" 

"I  shouldn't  have  discouraged  it.  When  I  got 
the  secret  order,  I  said :  'Bring  the  French — bring 
the  missionaries — bring  anything  that  will  cut  the 
comb  of  Tecumseh!'" 

"The  missionaries  and  the  French  like  being 
classed  with — anything,"  I  said. 

"We're  Americans  here,"  Croghan  laughed.  "The 
dauphin  may  have  to  fight  in  the  ditch  with  the  rest 
of  us." 

"The  dauphin  is  an  American  too,  and  used  to 
scars,  as  you  know.  Can  you  give  me  any  news 
from  Green  Bay  in  the  Wisconsin  country?" 

"I  was  ordered  to  Green  Bay  last  year  to  see  if 
anything  could  be  done  with  old  Fort  Edward  Au 
gustus." 

"Does  my  Holland  court-lady  live  there?" 

"Not  now,"  he  answered  soberly.    "She's  dead." 

"That's  bad,"  I  said,  thinking  of  lost  opportuni 
ties. 

"Is  pretty  Annabel  de  Chaumont  ever  coming 
back  from  France?" 

"Not  now,  she's  married." 

"That's  worse,"  he  sighed.  "I  was  very  silly 
about  her  when  I  was  a  boy." 

We  had  our  supper  in  his  quarters,  and  he  busied 
himself  until  late  in  the  night  with  preparations  for 
defense.  The  whole  place  was  full  of  cheer  and 
plenty  of  game,  and  swarmed  like  a  little  fair  with 
moving  figures.  A  camp-fire  was  built  at  dark  in 


312  IvAZARRK 

the  center  of  the  parade  ground,  heaped  logs  send 
ing  their  glow  as  far  as  the  dark  pickets.  Heads  of 
families  drew  towards  it  while  the  women  were 
putting  their  children  to  bed;  and  soldiers  off  duty 
lounged  there,  the  front  of  the  body  in  light,  the 
back  in  darkness. 

Cool  forest  night  air  flowed  over  the  stockade, 
swaying  smoke  this  way  and  that.  As  the  fire  was 
stirred,  and  smoke  turned  to  flame,  it  showed  more 
and  more  distinctly  what  dimness  had  screened. 

A  man  rose  up  on  the  other  side  of  it,  clothed 
in  a  coffee  sack,  in  which  holes  were  cut  for  his 
head  and  arms.  His  hat  was  a  tin  kettle  with  the 
handle  sticking  out  behind  like  a  stiff  queue. 

Indifferent  to  his  grotesqueness,  he  took  it  off 
and  put  it  on  the  ground  beside  him,  standing  ready 
to  command  attention. 

He  was  a  small,  dark,  wiry  man,  barefooted  and 
barelegged,  whose  black  eyes  sparkled,  and  whose 
scanty  hair  and  beard  hung  down  over  shoulders 
and  breast.  Some  pokes  of  leather,  much  scratched, 
hung  bulging  from  the  rope  which  girded  his  coffee 
sack.  From  one  of  these  he  took  a  few  unbound 
leaves,  the  fragment  of  a  book,  spread  them  open, 
and  began  to  read  in  a  chanting,  prophetic  key, 
something  about  the  love  of  the  Lord  and  the  mys 
teries  of  angels.  His  listeners  kept  their  eyes  on 
him,  giving  an  indulgent  ear  to  spiritual  messages 
that  made  less  demand  on  them  than  the  violent 
earthly  ones  to  which  they  were  accustomed. 

'It's  Johnny  Appleseed,"  a  man  at  my  side  told 


It's  Johnny  Appleseed,"  a  man  at  my  side  told  me 


ARRIVING  313 

me,  as  if  the  name  explained  anything  he  might  do. 

When  Johnny  Appleseed  finished  reading  the 
leaves  he  put  them  back  in  his  bag,  and  took  his 
kettle  to  the  well  for  water.  He  then  brought 
some  meal  from  the  cook-house  and  made  mush  in 
his  hat. 

The  others,  turning  their  minds  from  future 
mysteries,  began  to  talk  about  present  danger, 
when  he  stood  up  from  his  labor  to  inquire : 

"Is  there  plenty  in  the  fort  for  the  children  to 
eat?" 

"Plenty,  Johnny,  plenty,"  several  voices  assured 
him. 

"I  can  go  without  supper  if  the  children  haven't 
enough." 

"Eat  your  supper,  Johnny.  Major  Croghan  will 
give  you  more  if  you  want  it,"  said  a  soldier. 

"And  we'll  give  you  jerked  Britisher,  if  you'll 
.wait  for  it,"  said  another. 

"Johnny  never  eats  meat,"  one  of  the  refugees 
put  in.  "He  thinks  it's  sinful  to  kill  critters.  All 
the  things  in  the  woods  likes  him.  Once  he  got 
into  a  holler  log  to  sleep,  and  some  squirrels 
warned  him  to  move  out,  they  settled  there  first; 
and  he  done  it.  I  don't  allow  he'd  pick  a  flea  off 
his  own  hide  for  fear  he'd  break  its  legs  so  it 
couldn't  hop  around  and  make  a  living." 

The  wilderness  prophet  sat  down  quietly  to  his 
meal  without  appearing  to  notice  what  was  said 
him ;  and  when  he  had  eaten,  carried  his  hat 


314  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

into  the  cook-house,  where  dogs  could  not  get  at 
his  remaining  porridge. 

"Now  he'll  save  that  for  his  breakfast,"  remarked 
another  refugee.  "There's  nothing  he  hates  like 
waste." 

"Talking  about  squirrels,"  exclaimed  the  man  at 
my  side,  "I  believe  he  has  a  pasture  for  old,  broke- 
down  horses  somewhere  east  in  the  hills.  All  the 
bates  he  can  find  he  swaps  young  trees  for,  and 
they  go  off  with  him  leading  them,  but  he  never 
comes  into  the  settlements  on  horseback." 

"Does  he  always  go  barefoot?"  I  asked. 

"Sometimes  he  makes  bark  sandals.  If  you  give 
him  a  pair  of  shoes  he'll  give  them  away  to  the  first 
person  that  can  wear  them  and  needs  them.  Hunt 
ers  wrap  dried  leaves  around  their  leggins  to  keep 
the  rattlesnakes  out,  but  Johnny  never  protects  him 
self  at  all." 

"No  wonder,"  spoke  a  soldier.  "Any  snake'd 
be  discouraged  at  them  shanks.  A  seven-year 
rattler'd  break  his  fang  on  'em." 

Johnny  came  out  of  the  cook-house  with  an  iron 
poker,  and  heated  it  in  the  coals.  All  the  men 
around  the  fire  waited,  understanding  what  he  was 
about  to  do,  but  my  own  breath  drew  with  a  hiss 
through  my  teeth  as  he  laid  the  red  hot  iron  first 
on  one  long  cut  and  then  another  in  his  travel-worn 
feet.  Having  cauterized  himself  effectually,  and 
returned  the  poker,  he  took  his  place  in  perfect 
serenity,  without  any  show  of  pain,  prepared  to 
accommodate  himself  to  the  company. 


ARRIVING  3*5 

Some  boys,  awake  with  the  bigness  of  the  occa 
sion,  sat  down  near  Johnny  Appleseed,  and  gave 
him  their  frank  attention.  Each  boy  had  his  hair 
cut  straight  around  below  the  ears,  where  his 
mother  had  measured  it  with  an  inverted  bowl, 
and  freshly  trimmed  him  for  life  in  the  fort,  and 
perhaps  for  the  discomfiture  of  savages,  if  he  came 
under  the  scalping  knife.  Open-mouthed  or  stern- 
jawed,  according  to  temperament,  the  young  pio 
neers  listened  to  stories  about  Tecumseh,  and  sur 
mises  on  the  enemy's  march,  and  the  likelihood  of 
a  night  attack. 

"Tippecanoe  was  fought  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,"  said  a  soldier. 

"I  was  there,"  spoke  out  Johnny  Appleseed. 

No  other  man  could  say  as  much.  All  looked  at 
him  as  he  stood  on  his  cauterized  feet,  stretching 
his  arms,  lean  and  sun-cured,  upward  in  the  fire 
light. 

"Angels  were  there.  In  rain  and  darkness  I 
heard  them  speak  and  say,  'He  hath  cast  the  lot  for 
them,  and  His  hand  hath  divided  it  unto  them  by 
line;  they  shall  possess  it  forever;  from  generation 
to  generation  shall  they  dwell  therein.  The  wilder 
ness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for  them, 
and  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the 
rose!'" 

"Say,  Johnny,  what  does  an  angel  look  like?" 
piped  up  one  of  the  boys,  quite  in  fellowship. 

Johnny  Appleseed  turned  his  rapt  vision  aside 
and  answered: 


316  LAZARRK 

1  'White  robes  were  given  unto  every  one  of 
them/  There  had  I  laid  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep, 
and  the  Lord  made  me  to  dwell  in  safety.  The 
camp-fires  burned  red  in  the  sheltered  place,  and 
they  who  were  to  possess  the  land  watched  by  the 
campfires.  I  looked  down  from  my  high  place, 
from  my  shelter  of  leaves  and  my  log  that  the  Lord 
gave  me  for  a  bed,  and  saw  the  red  camp-fires  blink 
in  the  darkness. 

"Then  was  I  aware  that  the  heathen  crept  be 
twixt  me  and  the  camp,  surrounding  it  as  a  cloud 
that  lies  upon  the  ground.  The  rain  fell  upon  us 
all,  and  there  was  not  so  much  sound  as  the  rust 
ling  of  grasshoppers  in  tall  grass.  I  said  they  will 
surprise  the  camp  and  slay  the  sleepers,  not  know 
ing  that  they  who  were  to  possess  the  land  watched 
every  man  with  his  weapon.  But  when  I  would 
have  sounded  the  trumpet  of  warning,  I  heard  a 
rifle  shot,  and  all  the  Indians  rose  up  screeching 
and  rushed  at  the  red  fires. 

"Then  a  sorcerer  leaped  upon  my  high  place,  rat 
tling  many  deer  hoofs,  and  calling  aloud  that  his 
brethren  might  hear  his  voice.  Light  he  promised 
them  for  themselves,  and  darkness  for  the  camp, 
and  he  sang  his  war  song,  shouting  and  rattling 
the  deer  hoofs.  Also  the  Indians  rattled  deer  hoofs, 
and  it  was  like  a  giant  breathing  his  last,  being  shot 
with  many  musket  flashes. 

"I  saw  steam  through  the  darkness,  for  the  fires 
were  drenched  and  trampled  by  the  men  of  the 
camp,  and  no  longer  shone  as  candles  so  that  the 


ARRIVING  3J7 

Indians  might  see  by  them  to  shoot.  The  sorcerer 
danced  and  shouted,  the  deer  hoofs  rattled,  and 
on  this  side  and  that  men  fought  knee  to  knee  and 
breast  to  breast.  I  saw  through  the  wet  dawn,  and 
they  who  had  crept  around  the  camp  as  a  cloud 
arose  as  grasshoppers  and  fled  to  the  swamp. 

"Then  did  the  sorcerer  sit  upon  his  heels,  and  I 
beheld  he  had  but  one  eye,  and  he  covered  it  from 
the  light. 

"But  the  men  in  the  camp  shouted  with  a  -mighty 
shouting.  And  after  their  shouting  I  heard  again 
the  voices  of  angels  saying:  'He  hath  cast  the  lot 
for  them,  and  His  hand  hath  divided  it  unto  them 
by  line;  they  shall  possess  it  forever;  from  gen 
eration  to  generation  shall  they  dwell  therein.  The 
wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  for 
them,  and  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as 
the  rose!'" 

The  speaker  sat  down,  and  one  of  the  men  re 
marked  : 

"So  that's  the  way  the  battle  of  Tippecanoe 
looked  to  Johnny  Appleseed." 

But  the  smallest  boy  thoughtfully  inquired: 

"Say,  Johnny,  haven't  the  Indians  any  angels?" 

"You'll  wish  they  was  with  the  angels  if  they 
ever  get  you  by  the  hair/'  laughed  one  of  the  men. 

Soldiers  began  moving  their  single  cannon,  a 
six-pounder,  from  one  blockhouse  to  another.  All 
the  men  jumped  up  to  help,  as  at  the  raising  of  a 
home,  and  put  themselves  in  the  way  so  ardently 
that  they  had  to  be  ordered  back. 


318  IvAZARRE 

When  everybody  but  ourselves  had  left  the  starlit 
open  place,  Johnny  Appleseed  lay  down  and 
stretched  his  heels  to  the  blaze.  A  soldier  added 
another  log,  and  kicked  into  the  flame  those  fallen 
away.  Though  it  was  the  end  of  July,  Lake  Erie 
cooled  the  inland  forests. 

Sentinels  were  posted  in  the  blockhouses.  Quiet 
settled  on  the  camp;  and  I  sat  turning  many  things 
in  my  mind  besides  the  impending  battle.  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  had  made  a  disastrous  campaign  in  Rus 
sia.  If  I  were  yet  in  France;  if  the  Marquis  du 
Plessy  had  lived;  if  I  had  not  gone  to  Mittau;  if 
the  self  I  might  have  been,  that  always  haunts  us, 
stood  ready  to  take  advantage  of  the  turn 

Yet  the  thing  which  cannot  be  understood  by 
men  reared  under  old  governments  had  befallen  me. 
I  must  have  drawn  the  wilderness  into  my  blood. 
Its  possibilities  held  me.  If  I  had  stayed  in  France 
at  twenty,  I  should  have  been  a  Frenchman.  The 
following  years  made  me  an  American.  The  pas 
sion  that  binds  you  to  a  land  is  no  more  to  be  ex 
plained  than  the  fact  that  many  women  are  beauti 
ful,  while  only  one  is  vitally  interesting. 

The  wilderness  mystic  was  sitting  up  looking 
at  me. 

"I  see  two  people  in  you,"  he  said. 

"Only  two?" 

"Two  separate  men." 

"What  are  their  names?" 

"Their  names  I  cannot  see." 

"Well,  suppose  we  call  them  Louis  and  Lazarre." 


ARRIVINO  319 

His  eyes  sparkled. 

"You  are  a  white  man,"  he  pronounced.  "By 
that  I  mean  you  are  not  stained  with  many  vile 
sins." 

"I  hadn't  an  equal  chance  with  other  men.  I 
lost  nine  years." 

"Mebby,"  hazarded  Johnny  Appleseed  cautious 
ly,  "you  are  the  one  appointed  to  open  and  read 
what  is  sealed." 

"If  you  mean  to  interpret  what  you  read,  I'm 
afraid  I  am  not  the  one.  Where  did  you  get  those 
leaves?" 

"From  a  book  that  I  divided  up  to  distribute 
among  the  people." 

"Doesn't  that  destroy  the  sense?" 

"No.  I  carry  the  pages  in  their  order  from  cabin 
to  cabin." 

He  came  around  the  fire  with  the  lightness  of  an 
Indian,  and  gave  me  his  own  fragment  to  examine. 
It  proved  to  be  from  the  writings  of  one  Emanuel 
Swedenborg. 

With  a  smile  which  seemed  to  lessen  the  size  of 
his  face  and  concentrate  its  expression  to  a  shining 
point,  Johnny  Appleseed  slid  his  leather  bags  along 
the  rope  girdle,  and  searched  them,  one  after  the 
other.  I  thought  he  wanted  me  to  notice  his  apple 
seeds,  and  inquired  how  many  kinds  he  carried.  So 
he  showed  them  in  handfuls,  brown  and  glistening, 
or  gummed  with  the  sweet  blood  of  cider.  These 
produced  pippins;  these  produced  russets;  these 
produced  luscious  harvest  apples,  that  fell  in  Au- 


320  Iv  A.  Z  A.  R  R  K 

gust  bursting  with  juicy  ripeness.  Then  he  showed 
me  another  bagful  which  were  not  apple  seeds  at 
all,  but  neutral  colored  specks  moving  with  fluid 
-swiftness  as  he  poured  them  from  palm  to  palm. 

"Do  you  know  what  this  is?" 

I  told  him  I  didn't. 

"It's  dogfennel  seed." 

I  laughed,  and  asked  him  what  kind  of  apples  it 
bore. 

Johnny  Appleseed  smiled  at  me  again. 

"It's  a  flower.  I'm  spreading  it  over  the  whole 
of  Ohio  and  Indiana!  It'll  come  up  like  the  stars 
for  abundance,  and  fill  the  land  with  rankness,  and 
fever  and  ague  will  flee  away!" 

"But  how  about  the  rankness?" 

"Fever  and  ague  will  flee  away,"  he  repeated, 
continuing  his  search  through  the  bags. 

He  next  brought  out  a  parcel,  wrapped  up  care 
fully  in  doeskin  to  protect  it  from  the  appleseeds; 
and  turned  foolish  in  the  face,  as  bits  of  ribbon  and 
calico  fell  out  upon  his  knees. 

"This  isn't  the  one,"  he  said,  bundling  it  up  and 
thrusting  it  back  again.  "The  little  girls,  they  like 
to  dress  their  doll-babies,  so  I  carry  patches  for 
the  little  girls.  Here's  what  I  was  looking  for." 

It  was  another  doeskin  parcel,  bound  lengthwise 
and  crosswise  by  thongs.  These  Johnny  Appleseed 
reverently  loosened,  bringing  forth  a  small  book 
with  wooden  covers  fastened  by  a  padlock. 


Ill 

d\\  7  HERE    did    you  get    this?"    I  heard 
V  V      myself  asking,  a  strange  voice  sound 
ing  far  down  the  throat. 

"From  an  Indian/'  the  mystic  told  me  quietly. 
"He  said  it  was  bad  medicine  to  him.  He  never 
had  any  luck  in  hunting  after  it  fell  to  his  share, 
so  he  was  glad  to  give  it  to  me/' 

"Where  did  he  get  it?" 

"His  tribe  took  it  from  some  prisoners  they 
killed." 

I  was  running  blindly  around  in  a  circle  to 
find  relief  from  the  news  he  dealt  me,  when  the 
absurdity  of  such  news  overtook  me.  I  stood  and 
laughed. 

"Who  were  the  prisoners?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Johnny  Appleseed. 

"How  do  you  know  the  Indians  killed  them?" 

"The  one  that  gave  me  this  book  told  me  so." 

"There  are  plenty  of  padlocked  books  in  the 
world,"  I  said  jauntily.  "At  least  there  must  be 
more  than  one.  How  long  ago  did  it  happen?" 

"Not  very  long  ago,  I  think;  for  the  book  was 
clean." 

"Give  it  to  me,"  I  said,  as  if  I  cursed  him. 

"It's  a  sacred  book,"  he  answered,  hesitating. 

"Maybe  it's  sacred.    Let  me  see." 
321 


322  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"There  may  be  holy  mysteries  in  it,  to  be  read 
only  of  him  who  has  the  key.5' 

"I  have  a  key!" 

I  took  it  out  of  the  snuffbox.  Johnny  Apple- 
seed  fixed  his  rapt  eyes  on  the  little  object  in  my 
fingers. 

"Mebby  you  are  the  one  appointed  to  open  and 
read  what  is  sealed!" 

"No,  I'm  not!  How  could  my  key  fit  a  pad 
locked  book  that  belonged  to  prisoners  killed  by 
the  Indians?" 

He  held  it  out  to  me  and  I  took  hold  of  the  pad 
lock.  It  was  a  small  steel  padlock,  and  the  hole 
looked  dangerously  the  size  of  my  key. 

"I  can't  do  it!"  I  said. 

"Let  me  try,"  said  Johnny  Appleseed. 

"No!  You  might  break  my  key  in  a  strange  pad 
lock!  Hold  it  still,  Johnny.  Please  don't  shake 
it." 

"I'm  not  shaking  it,"  Johnny  Appleseed  an 
swered  tenderly. 

"There's  only  one  way  of  proving  that  my  key 
doesn't  fit,"  I  said,  and  thrust  it  in.  The  ward 
turned  easily,  and  the  padlock  came  away  in  my 
hand.  I  dropped  it  and  opened  the  book.  Within 
the  lid  a  name  was  written  which  I  had  copied  a 
thousand  times — "Eagle  Madeleine  Marie  de  Fer- 
rier." 

Still  I  did  not  believe  it.  Nature  protects  us  in 
our  uttermost  losses  by  a  density  through  which 
conviction  is  slow  to  penetrate.  In  some  mysterious 


ARRIVINQ  323 

way  the  padlocked  book  had  fallen  into  strange 
hands,  and  had  been  carried  to  America. 

"If  Eagle  were  in  America,  I  should  know  it.  For 
De  Chaumont  would  know  it,  and  Skenedonk 
would  find  it  out." 

I  stooped  for  the  padlock,  hooked  it  in  place,  and 
locked  the  book  again. 

"Is  the  message  to  you  alone?"  inquired  Johnny 
Appleseed. 

"Did  you  ever  care  for  a  woman?"  I  asked  him. 

Restless  misery  came  into  his  eyes,  and  I  noticed 
for  the  first  time  that  he  was  not  an  old  man;  he 
could  not  have  been  above  thirty-five.  He  made 
no  answer;  shifting  from  one  bare  foot  to  the  other, 
his  body  settling  and  losing  its  Indian  lightness. 

"A  woman  gave  me  the  key  to  this  book.  Her 
name  is  written  inside  the  lid.  I  was  to  read  it  if 
it  ever  fell  into  my  hands,  after  a  number  of  years. 
Somebody  has  stolen  it,  and  carried  it  among  the 
Indians.  But  it's  mine.  Every  shilling  in  my  wal 
let,  the  clothes  off  my  back  you're  welcome  to — " 

"I  don't  want  your  money  or  your  clothes." 

"But  let  me  give  you  something  in  exchange  for 
it" 

"What  do  I  need?  I  always  have  as  much  as  I 
want.  This  is  a  serviceable  coat,  as  good  as  any 
man  need  wish  for;  and  the  ravens  feed  me.  And 
if  I  needed  anything,  could  I  take  it  for  carrying  a 
message?  I  carry  good  tidings  of  great  joy  among 
the  people  all  the  time.  This  is  yours.  Put  it  in 
your  pocket." 


324  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

I  hid  the  padlocked  book  in  the  breast  of  my  coat, 
and  seized  his  wrist  and  his  hand. 

"Be  of  good  courage,  white  double-man,"  said 
Johnny  Appleseed.  "The  Lord  lift  up  the  light  of 
His  countenance  upon  you,  the  Lord  make  His 
face  to  shine  upon  you  and  give  you  peace!" 

He  returned  to  his  side  of  the  fire  and  stretched 
himself  under  the  stars,  and  I  went  to  Croghan's 
quarters  and  lay  down  with  my  clothes  on  in  the 
bunk  assigned  to  me. 

The  book  which  I  would  have  rent  open  at  twen 
ty,  I  now  carried  unsealed.  The  suspense  of  it  was 
so  sweet,  and  drew  my  thoughts  from  the  other  sus 
pense  which  could  not  be  endured.  It  was  not  likely 
that  any  person  about  Mont-Louis  had  stolen  the 
book,  and  wandered  so  far.  Small  as  the  volume 
was,  the  boards  indented  my  breast  and  made  me 
increasingly  conscious  of  its  presence.  I  waked  in 
the  night  and  held  it. 

Next  morning  Johnny  Appleseed  was  gone  from 
the  fort,  unafraid  of  war,  bent  only  on  carrying  the 
apple  of  civilization  into  the  wilderness.  Nobody 
spoke  about  his  absence,  for  shells  began  to  fall 
around  us.  The  British  and  Indians  were  in  sight; 
and  General  Proctor  sent  a  flag  of  truce  demanding 
surrender. 

Major  Croghan's  ensign  approached  the  messen 
ger  with  a  flag  in  reply. 

The  women  gathered  their  children  as  chickens 
under  shelter.  All  in  the  fort  were  cheerful,  and 
the  men  joked  with  the  gush  of  humor  which  dan- 


ARRIVINO  325 

ger  starts  in  Americans.  I  saw  then  the  ready  laugh 
that  faced  in  its  season  what  was  called  Indian  sum 
mer,  because  the  Indian  took  then  advantage  of  the 
last  pleasant  weather  to  make  raids.  Such  pioneers 
could  speak  lightly  even  of  powwowing  time — the 
first  pleasant  February  days,  when  savages  held 
councils  before  descending  on  the  settlements. 

Major  Croghan  and  I  watched  the  parley  from 
one  of  the  blockhouses  that  bastioned  the  place. 
Before  it  ended  a  Shawanoe  sprang  out  of  a  ravine 
and  snatched  the  ensign's  sword.  He  gave  it  back 
reluctantly,  and  the  British  flag  bearer  hurried  the 
American  within  the  gates. 

General  Proctor  regretted  that  so  fine  a  young 
man  as  Major  Croghan  should  fall  into  the  hands 
of  savages,  who  were  not  to  be  restrained. 

"When  this  fort  is  taken,"  said  Croghan  on  hear 
ing  the  message,  "there  will  be  nobody  left  in  it 
to  kill." 

British  gunboats  drawn  up  on  the  Sandusky 
river,  and  a  howitzer  on  the  shore,  opened  fire, 
and  cannonaded  all  day  with  the  poor  execution  of 
long  range  artillery.  The  northwestern  angle  of 
the  fort  was  their  target.  Croghan  foresaw  that 
the  enemy's  intention  was  to  make  a  breach  and 
enter  there.  When  night  came  again,  his  one  six- 
pounder  was  moved  with  much  labor  from  that 
angle  into  the  southwest  blockhouse,  as  noiselessly 
as  possible.  He  masked  the  embrasure  and  had  the 
piece  loaded  with  a  double  charge  of  slugs  and 
grape  shot  and  half  a  charge  of  powder.  Perhaps 


326  L,  A  Z  A.  R  R  E 

the  British  thought  him  unprovided  with  any  heavy 
artillery. 

They  were  busy  themselves,  bringing  three  of  the 
ineffectual  six-pounders  and  the  howitzer,  under 
darkness,  within  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  the 
fort;  giving  a  background  of  woods  to  their  bat 
tery.  About  dawn  we  saw  what  they  had  been 
doing.  They  concentrated  on  the  northwest  angle; 
and  still  Croghan  replied  only  with  muskets,  wait 
ing  for  them  to  storm. 

So  it  went  on  all  day,  the  gun-proof  blockhouse 
enduring  its  bombardment,  and  smoke  thickening 
until  it  filled  the  stockade  as  water  fills  a  well,  and 
settled  like  fog  between  us  and  the  enemy.  An 
attack  was  made  on  the  southern  angle  where  the 
cannon  was  masked. 

"This  is  nothing  but  a  feint,"  Croghan  said  to  the 
younger  officers. 

While  that  corner  replied  with  musketry,  he  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  for  the  safety  of  the  northwest 
blockhouse. 

One  soldier  was  brought  down  the  ladder  and 
carried  through  the  murky  pall  to  the  surgeon, 
who  could  do  nothing  for  him.  Another  turned 
from  a  loophole  with  blood  upon  him,  laughing  at 
his  mishap.  For  the  grotesqueness  and  inconven 
ience  of  a  wound  are  sometimes  more  swiftly  felt 
than  its  pain.  He  came  back  presently  with  his 
shoulder  bandaged  and  resumed  his  place  at  the 
loophole. 

The  exhilaration  of  that  powder  atmosphere  and 


ARRIVING  327 

its  heat  made  soldiers  throw  off  their  coats,  as  if  the 
expanding  human  body  was  not  to  be  confined  in 
wrappings. 

In  such  twilight  of  war  the  twilight  of  Nature 
overtook  us.  Another  feint  was  made  to  draw  at 
tention  from  a  heavy  force  of  assailants  creeping 
within  twenty  paces,  under  cover  of  smoke,  to  sur 
prise  the  northwest  blockhouse. 

Musketry  was  directed  against  them:  they  hesi 
tated.  The  commander  led  a  charge,  and  himself 
sprang  first  into  the  ditch.  We  saw  the  fine  fellows 
leaping  to  carry  the  blockhouse,  every  man  deter 
mined  to  be  first  in  making  a  breach.  They  filled 
the  ditch. 

This  was  the  instant  for  which  Croghan  had 
waited.  He  opened  the  porthole  and  unmasked 
his  exactly  trained  cannon.  It  enfiladed  the  assail 
ants,  sweeping  them  at  a  distance  of  thirty  feet; 
slugs  and  grapeshot  hissed,  spreading  fan  rays  of 
death!  By  the  flash  of  the  re-loaded  six-pounder, 
we  saw  the  trench  filled  with  dead  and  wounded. 

The  besiegers  turned. 

Croghan's  sweating  gunners  swabbed  and  loaded 
and  fired,  roaring  like  lions. 

The  Indians,  of  whom  there  were  nearly  a  thou 
sand,  were  not  in  the  charge,  and  when  retreat  be 
gan  they  went  in  panic.  We  could  hear  calls  and 
yells,  the  clatter  of  arms,  and  a  thumping  of  the 
earth ;  the  strain  of  men  tugging  cannon  ropes ;  the 
swift  withdrawal  of  a  routed  force. 


328  lv  A  Z  A:  R  R  EX 

Two  thousand  more  Indians  approaching  under 
Tecumseh,  were  turned  back  by  refugees. 

Croghan  remarked,  as  we  listened  to  the  uproar; 
"Fort  Stephenson  can  hardly  be  called  untenable 
against  heavy  artillery." 

Then  arose  cries  in  the  ditch,  which  penetrated 
to  women's  ears.  Neither  side  was  able  to  help  the 
wounded  there.  But  before  the  rout  was  complete, 
Croghan  had  water  let  down  in  buckets  to  relieve 
their  thirst,  and  ordered  a  trench  cut  under  the 
pickets  of  the  stockade.  Through  this  the  poor 
wretches  who  were  able  to  crawl  came  in  and  sur 
rendered  themselves  and  had  their  wounds 
dressed. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  not  a  British  uni 
form  glimmered  red  through  the  dawn.  The  noise 
of  retreat  ended.  Pistols  and  muskets  strewed  the 
ground.  Even  a  sailboat  was  abandoned  on  the 
river,  holding  military  stores  and  the  clothing  of 
officers. 

"They  thought  General  Harrison  was  coming," 
laughed  Croghan,  as  he  sat  down  to  an  early  break 
fast,  having  relieved  all  the  living  in  the  trench  and 
detailed  men  to  bury  the  dead.  "We  have  lost  one 
man,  and  have  another  under  the  surgeon's  hands. 
Now  I'm  ready  to  appear  before  a  court-martial 
for  disobeying  orders." 

"You  mean  you're  ready  for  your  immortal  page 
in  history." 

"Paragraph,"  said  Croghan;  "and  the  dislike  of 
poor  little  boys  and  girls  who  will  stick  their  fists 


ARRIVING  329 

in  their  eyes  when  they  have  to  learn  it  at  school." 

Intense  manhood  ennobled  his  long,  animated 
face.  The  President  afterwards  made  him  a  lieu 
tenant-colonel,  and  women  and  his  superior  offi 
cers  praised  him;  but  he  was  never  more  gallant 
than  when  he  said : 

"My  uncle,  George  Rogers  Clark,  would  have 
undertaken  to  hold  this  fort;  and  by  heavens,  we 
were  bound  to  try  it!" 

The  other  young  officers  sat  at  mess  with  him, 
hilarious  over  the  outcome,  picturing  General  Proc 
tor's  state  of  mind  when  he  learned  the  age  of  his 
conqueror. 

None  of  them  cared  a  rap  that  Daniel  Webster 
was  opposing  the  war  in  the  House  of  Representa 
tives  at  Washington,  and  declaring  that  on  land  it 
was  a  failure. 

A  subaltern  came  to  the  mess  room  door,  touch 
ing  his  cap  and  asking  to  speak  with  Major  Cro- 
ghan. 

"The  men  working  outside  at  the  trenches  saw 
a  boy  come  up  from  the  ravine,  sir,  and  fall  every 
few  steps,  so  they've  brought  him  in." 

"Does  he  carry  a  dispatch?" 

"No,  sir.  He  isn't  more  than  nine  or  ten  years 
old.  I  think  he  was  a  prisoner." 

"Is  he  a  white  boy?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  he's  dressed  like  an  Indian." 

"I  think  it  unlikely  the  British  would  allow  the 
Shawanoes  to  burden  their  march  with  any  pris- 


330  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"Somebody  had  him,  and  I'm  afraid  he's  been 
shot  either  during  the  action  or  in  the  retreat.  He 
was  hid  in  the  ravine." 

"Bring  him  here,"  said  Croghan. 

A  boy  with  blue  eyes  set  wide  apart,  hair  cling 
ing  brightly  and  moistly  to  his  pallid  forehead,  and 
mouth  corners  turning  up  in  a  courageous  smile, 
entered  and  stood  erect  before  the  officer.  He  was 
a  well  made  little  fellow.  His  tiny  buckskin  hunt 
ing  shirt  was  draped  with  a  sash  in  the  Indian  fash 
ion,  showing  the  curve  of  his  naked  hip.  Down 
this  a  narrow  line  of  blood  was  moving.  Children 
of  refugees,  full  of  pity,  looked  through  the  open 
door  behind  him. 

"Go  to  him,  Shipp,"  said  Croghan,  as  the  boy 
staggered.  But  he  waved  the  ensign  back. 

"Who  are  you,  my  man?"  asked  the  Major. 

"I  believe,"  he  answered,  "I  am  the  Marquis  de 
Ferrier." 


IV 


HE  PITCHED  forward,  and  I  was  quicker 
than  Ensign  Shipp.  I  set  him  on  my  knees, 
and  the  surgeon  poured  a  little  watered  brandy 
down  his  throat. 

"Paul!"  I  said  to  him. 

"Stand  back,"  ordered  the  surgeon,  as  women 
followed  their  children,  crowding  the  room. 

"Do  you  know  him,  Lazarre?"  asked  Croghan. 

"It's  Madame  de  Ferrier's  child." 

"Not  the  baby  I  used  to  see  at  De  Chaumont'sr 
What's  he  doing  at  Fort  Stephenson?" 

The  women  made  up  my  bunk  for  Paul,  and  I  laid 
him  in  it.  Each  wanted  to  take  him  to  her  care. 
The  surgeon  sent  them  to  the  cook-house  to  brew 
messes  for  him,  and  stripped  the  child,  finding  a 
bullet  wound  in  his  side.  Probing  brought  nothing 
out,  and  I  did  not  ask  a  single  question.  The  child 
should  live.  There  could  be  no  thought  of  any 
thing  else.  While  the  surgeon  dressed  and  ban 
daged  that  small  hole  like  a  sucked-in  mouth,  I  saw 
the  boy  sitting  on  saddle-bags  behind  me,  his  arms 
clipping  my  waist,  while  we  threaded  bowers  of 
horse  paths.  I  had  not  known  how  I  wanted  a  boy 
to  sit  behind  me!  No  wonder  pioneer  men  were 
so  confident  and  full  of  jokes:  they  had  children  be 
hind  them ! 

331 


332  L  A.  Z  A.  R  R  H 

He  was  burning  with  fever.  His  eyes  swam  in  it 
as  he  looked  at  me.  He  could  not  eat  when  food 
was  brought  to  him,  but  begged  for  water,  and  the 
surgeon  allowed  him  what  the  women  considered 
reckless  quantities.  Over  stockades  came  the  Au 
gust  rustle  of  the  forest.  Morning  bird  voices  suc 
ceeded  to  the  cannon's  reverberations. 

The  surgeon  turned  everybody  out  but  me,  and 
looked  in  by  times  from  his  hospital  of  British 
wounded.  I  wiped  the  boy's  forehead  and  gave  him 
his  medicine,  fanning  him  all  day  long.  He  lay  in 
stupor,  and  the  surgeon  said  he  was  going  com 
fortably,  and  would  suffer  little.  Once  in  awhile 
he  turned  up  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  smiled 
at  me,  as  if  the  opiate  gave  him  blessed  sensations. 
I  asked  the  surgeon  what  I  should  do  in  the  night 
if  he  came  out  of  it  and  wanted  to  talk. 

"Let  him  talk,"  said  the  doctor  briefly. 

Unlike  the  night  before,  this  was  a  night  of  si 
lence.  Everybody  slept,  but  the  sentinels,  and  the 
men  whose  wounds  kept  them  awake;  and  I  was 
both  a  sentinel,  and  a  man  whose  wounds  kept  him 
awake. 

Paul's  little  hands  were  scratched;  and  there  was 
a  stone  bruise  on  the  heel  he  pushed  from  cover 
of  the  blankets.  His  small  body,  compact  of  so 
much  manliness,  was  fine  and  sweet.  Though  he 
bore  no  resemblance  to  his  mother,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  she  lay  there  for  me  to  tend;  and  the 
change  was  no  more  an  astounding  miracle  than  the 
change  of  baby  to  boy. 


ARRIVIKO  333 

I  had  him  all  that  night  for  my  own,  putting 
every  other  thought  out  of  mind  and  absorbing  his 
presence.  His  forehead  and  his  face  lost  their  burn 
ing  heat  with  the  coolness  of  dawn,  which  blew  our 
shaded  candle,  flowing  from  miles  of  fragrant  oaks. 

He  awoke  and  looked  all  around  the  cabin.  I  tried 
to  put  his  opiate  into  his  mouth;  but  something 
restrained  me.  I  held  his  hand  to  my  cheek. 

"I  like  you,"  he  spoke  out.  "Don't  you  think 
my  mother  is  pretty?" 

I  said  I  thought  his  mother  was  the  most  beauti 
ful  woman  in  the  world.  He  curled  up  his  mouth 
corners  and  gave  me  a  blue-eyed  smile. 

"My  father  is  not  pretty.  But  he  is  a  gentleman 
of  France." 

"Where  are  they,  Paul?" 

He  turned  a  look  upon  me  without  answering. 

"Paul/'  I  said  brutally,  "tell  me  where  your 
father  and  mother  are." 

He  was  so  far  gone  that  my  voice  recalled  him. 
He  simply  knew  me  as  a  voice  and  a  presence  that 
he  liked. 

"With  poor  old  Ernestine/'  he  answered. 

"And  where  is  poor  old  Ernestine?" 

He  began  to  shake  as  if  struck  with  a  chill.  I 
drew  the  blanket  closer. 

"Paul,  you  must  tell  me!" 

He  shook  his  head.  His  mouth  worked,  and  his 
little  breast  went  into  convulsions. 

He  shrieked  and  threw  himself  toward  me.  "My 
pretty  little  mother  1" 


334  1^  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

I  held  him  still  in  a  tight  grip.  "My  darling — 
don't  start  your  wound!" 

I  could  have  beaten  myself,  but  the  surgeon  after 
wards  told  me  the  child  was  dying  when  he  came 
into  the  fort.  About  dawn,  when  men's  lives  sink 
to  their  lowest  ebb  with  night,  his  sank  away.  I 
smoothed  his  head  and  kissed  and  quieted  him. 
Once  he  looked  into  space  with  blurred  eyes,  and 
curled  up  his  mouth  corners  when  I  am  sure  he  no 
longer  saw  me. 

Thus  swiftly  ended  Paul's  unaccountable  appear 
ance  at  the  fort.  It  was  like  the  falling  of  a  slain 
bird  out  of  the  sky  at  my  feet.  The  women  were 
tender  with  his  little  body.  They  cried  over  him  as 
they  washed  him  for  burial.  The  children  went  out 
side  the  stockade  and  brought  green  boughs  and 
August  wild  flowers,  bearing  the  early  autumn  col 
ors  of  gold  and  scarlet.  With  these  they  bedded 
the  child  in  his  plank  coffin,  unafraid  of  his  waxen 
sleep. 

Before  Croghan  went  to  report  to  his  General, 
he  asked  me  where  we  should  bury  the  little  fel 
low. 

"In  the  fort,  by  the  southern  blockhouse,"  I  an 
swered.  "Let  Fort  Stephenson  be  his  monument. 
It  will  stand  here  forever.  The  woods  around  it  will 
be  trampled  by  prowling  savages,  and  later  on  by 
prowling  white  men.  Within,  nothing  will  oblit 
erate  the  place.  Give  a  little  fellow  a  bed  here,  who 
died  between  two  countries,  and  will  never  be  a 
citizen  of  either." 


ARRIVINQ  335 

"I  don't  want  to  make  a  graveyard  of  the  fort," 
said  Croghan.  But  he  looked  at  Paul,  bent  low 
over  him,  and  allowed  him  to  be  buried  near  the 
southwest  angle. 

There  the  child's  bones  rest  to  this  day.  The 
town  of  Fremont  in  the  commonwealth  of  Ohio 
has  grown  up  around  them.  Young  children  who 
climb  the  grassy  bastion,  may  walk  above  his  head, 
never  guessing  that  a  little  gentleman  of  France, 
who  died  like  a  soldier  of  his  wound,  lies  deeply 
cradled  there. 

Before  throwing  myself  down  in  the  dead  heavi 
ness  which  results  from  continual  loss  of  sleep,  I 
questioned  the  wounded  British  soldiers  about 
Paul.  None  of  them  had  seen  him.  Straggling 
bands  of  Indians  continually  joined  their  force. 
Captives  were  always  a  possibility  in  the  savage 
camp.  Paul  might  have  been  taken  hundreds  of 
miles  away. 

But  I  had  the  padlocked  book,  which  might  tell 
the  whole  story.  With  desperate  haste  that  could 
hardly  wait  to  open  the  lids,  I  took  it  out,  wonder 
ing  at  the  patience  which  long  self-restraint  had 
bred  in  me.  I  was  very  tired,  and  stretched  my 
arms  across  the  pillow  where  Paul's  head  had  lain, 
to  rest  one  instant.  But  I  must  have  slept.  My 
hand  woke  first,  and  feeling  itself  empty,  grasped 
at  the  book.  It  was  gone,  and  so  was  the  sun. 

I  got  a  light  and  searched,  thrusting  my  arm  be 
tween  the  bunk  and  the  log  wall.  It  was  not  on  the 
floor,  or  in  my  breast  pocket,  or  in  my  saddle-bags. 


336  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

The  robbery  was  unendurable.  And  I  knew  the 
Indian  who  had  done  it.  He  was  the  quietest,  most 
stubborn  Oneida  that  ever  followed  an  adopted 
white  man.  Why  he  had  taken  the  book  I  could 
not  understand.  But  I  was  entirely  certain  that  he 
had  taken  it  out  of  my  hand  while  I  slept.  He 
would  not  break  the  padlock  and  read  it,  but  like  a 
judicious  father  he  would  take  care  of  a  possibly 
unwholesome  volume  himself. 

I  went  out  and  found  the  bald-headed  and  well- 
beloved  wretch.  He  was  sitting  with  his  knees  to 
his  chin  by  the  evening  log  fire. 

"Skenedonk,"  I  said,  "I  want  my  book." 

"Children  and  books  make  a  woman  of  you,"  he 
responded.  "You  had  enough  books  at  Long- 
meadow." 

"I  want  it  at  once,"  I  repeated. 

"It's  sorcery,"  he  answered. 

"It's  a  letter  from  Madame  de  Ferrier,  and  may 
tell  where  she  is." 

His  fawn  eyes  were  startled,  but  he  continued  to 
hug  his  knees. 

"Skenedonk,  I  can't  quarrel  with  you.  You  were 
my  friend  before  I  could  remember.  When  you 
know  I  am  so  bound  to  you,  how  can  you  deal  me 
a  deadly  hurt?" 

"White  woman  sorcery  is  the  worst  sorcery. 
You  thought  I  never  saw  it.  But  I  did  see  it.  You 
went  after  her  to  Paris.  You  did  not  think  of  being 
the  king.  So  you  had  to  come  back  with  nothing. 
That's  what  woman  sorcery  does.  Now  you  have 


ARRIVING  337 

power  with  the  tribes.  The  President  sees  you  are 
a  big  man!  And  she  sends  a  book  to  you  to  be 
witch  you !  I  knew  she  sent  the  book  as  soon  as  I 
saw  it." 

"Do  you  think  she  sent  Paul?" 

He  made  no  answer. 

"Madame  de  Ferrier  does  not  know  I  have  the 
book." 

"You  haven't  it,"  said  Skenedonk. 

"But  you  have." 

"If  she  wrote  and  sent  a  letter  she  expected  it 
would  be  received." 

"When  I  said  a  letter  I  meant  what  is  called  a 
journal:  the  writing  down  of  what  happens  daily. 
Johnny  Appleseed  got  the  book  from  an  Indian. 
That  is  how  it  was  sent  to  me." 

"If  you  read  it  you  will  want  to  drop  everything 
else  and  go  to  find  her." 

This  was  the  truth,  for  I  was  not  under  military 
law. 

"Where  is  the  book?" 

"Down  my  back,"  said  Skenedonk. 

I  felt  the  loose  buckskin. 

"It  isn't  there." 

"In  my  front,"  said  Skenedonk. 

I  ran  my  hand  over  his  chest,  finding  nothing  but 
bone  and  brawn. 

"There  it  is,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  curled  wisp 
of  board  at  the  edge  of  the  fire.  "I  burnt  it." 

"Then  you've  finished  me." 

I  turned  and  left  him  sitting  like  an  image  by  the 
fire. 


BEFORE  I  left  Fort  Stephenson,  I  wrote  a 
letter  to  Count  de  Chaumont,  telling  him 
about  Paul's  death  and  asking  for  news  of  the 
De  Ferriers.  The  answer  I  begged  him  to  send 
to  Sandusky,  which  the  British  now  despaired  of 
taking.  But  although  Skenedonk  made  a  long  jour 
ney  for  it  twice  during  the  half  year,  I  got  no  an 
swer. 

The  dangerous  work  of  the  next  few  months  be 
came  like  a  long  debauch.  Awake,  we  were  dodg 
ing  betwixt  hostile  tribes,  or  dealing  with  those 
inclined  to  peace.  Asleep,  I  was  too  exhausted  to 
dream.  It  was  a  struggle  of  the  white  force  of 
civilization  with  the  red  sense  of  justice.  I 
wrestled  with  Algonquin  dialects  as  I  had  wrestled 
with  Greek.  Ottawas  and  Chippewas,  long  friendly 
to  the  French,  came  more  readily  than  other  tribes 
to  agreement  with  Americans. 

Wherever  I  went  I  pushed  the  quest  that  was 
uppermost  in  my  mind,  but  without  finding  any 
trace  of  Madame  de  Ferrier. 

From  the  measure  constantly  taken  betwixt 
other  men  of  my  time  and  myself,  this  positive 
knowledge  resulted. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  many  treated  me  as  a 
prince,  I  found  myself  an  average  man.  I  had  no 

338 


ARRIVINQ  339 

military  genius.  In  argument,  persuasive,  grace 
ful — even  eloquent — were  the  adjectives  applied 
to  me;  not  sweeping  and  powerful.  I  should  have 
made  a  jog-trot  king,  no  better  than  my  uncle  of 
Provence ;  no  worse  than  my  uncle  of  Artois,  who 
would  rather  saw  wood  than  reign  a  constitutional 
monarch,  and  whom  the  French  people  afterward 
turned  out  to  saw  wood.  My  reign  might  have  been 
neat;  it  would  never  have  been  gaudily  splendid. 
As  an  average  man,  I  could  well  hold  my  own  in 
the  world. 

Perry  on  the  lakes,  General  Jackson  in  the  south 
west,  Harrison  in  the  west,  and  Lawrence  on  the 
ocean  were  pushing  the  war  towards  its  close; 
though  as  late  as  spring  the  national  capitol  was 
burned  by  the  British,  and  a  gentleman  whom  they 
gaily  called  "Old  Jimmy  Madison,"  temporarily 
driven  out.  But  the  battle  on  the  little  river 
Thames,  in  October,  settled  matters  in  the  North 
west 

The  next  April,  after  Leipsic,  Napoleon  Bona 
parte  was  banished  to  the  island  of  Elba;  and 
Louis  XVIII  passed  from  his  latest  refuge  at  Hart- 
well  House  in  England,  to  London;  where  the 
Prince  Regent  honored  him  and  the  whole  capital 
cheered  him;  and  thence  to  Paris  where  he  was 
proclaimed  king  of  France.  We  heard  of  it  in  due 
course,  as  ships  brought  news.  I  was  serving  with 
the  American  forces. 

The  world  is  fluid  to  a  boy.  He  can  do  and  dare 
anything.  But  it  hardens  around  a  man  and  be- 


340  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

comes  a  wall  through  which  he  must  cut.  I  felt 
the  wall  close  around  me. 

In  September  I  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of 
Plattsburg  on  Lake  Champlain.  Three  men,  be 
sides  the  General  and  the  doctor,  and  my  Oneida, 
showed  a  differing  interest  in  me,  while  I  lay  with 
a  gap  under  my  left  arm,  in  a  hospital  tent. 

First  came  Count  de  Chaumont,  his  face  plowed 
with  lines;  no  longer  the  trim  gentleman,  youth 
fully  easy,  and  in  his  full  maturity,  that  he  had  been 
when  I  first  saw  him  at  close  range. 

He  sat  down  on  a  caimp  seat  by  my  cot,  and  I 
asked  him  before  he  could  speak — 

"Where  is  Madame  de  Ferrier?" 

"She's  dead,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"You're  young.  I'm  going  back  to  France  for 
a  while.  France  will  not  be  what  it  was  under  the 
Empire,  I'm  tired  of  most  things,  however,  and 
my  holdings  here  make  me  independent  of  changes 
there." 

"What  reason  have  you  to  think  that  she  is 
dead?" 

"Do  you  know  the  Indiana  Territory  well?" 

"The  northern  part  only." 

"It  happened  in  what  was  called  the  Pigeon 
Roost  settlement  at  the  fork  of  the  White  River. 
The  Kickapoos  and  Winnebagoes  did  it.  There 
were  about  two  dozen  people  in  the  settlement." 

"I  asked  how  you  know  these  things." 

"I  have  some  of  the  best  Indian  runners  that  ever 


ARRIVING  341 

trod  moccasins,  and  when  I  set  them  to  scouting, 
they  generally  find  what  I  want; — so  I  know  a  great 
many  things." 

"But  Paul—" 

"It's  an  old  custom  to  adopt  children  into  the 
tribes.  You  know  your  father,  Chief  Williams,  is 
descended  from  a  white  girl  who  was  a  prisoner. 
There  were  about  two  dozen  people  in  the  settle 
ment,  men,  women  and  children.  The  majority  of 
the  children  were  dashed  against  trees.  It  has  been 
consolation  to  me  to  think  she  did  not  survive  in 
the  hand3  of  savages." 

The  hidden  causes  which  work  out  results  never 
worked  out  a  result  more  improbable.  I  lay  silent, 
and  De  Chaumont  said, 

"Do  you  remember  the  night  you  disappeared 
from  the  Tuileries?" 

"I  remember  it." 

"You  remember  we  determined  not  to  let  the 
Marquis  de  Ferrier  see  Napoleon.  When  you  went 
down  the  corridor  with  Eagle  I  thought  you  were 
luring  him.  But  she  told  us  afterward  you  were 
threatened  with  arrest,  and  she  helped  you  out  of 
the  Tuileries  by  a  private  stairway." 

"Did  it  make  any  stir  in  the  palace?" 

"No.  I  saw  one  man  hurrying  past  us.  But  no 
body  heard  of  the  arrest  except  Eagle." 

"How  did  she  get  out?" 

"Out  of  what?" 

"The  queen's  closet." 

"She  was  in  the  garden.  She  said  she  went  down 


342  1^  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

the  private  stairway  to  avoid  the  gendarme.  She 
must  have  done  it  cleverly,  for  she  came  in  on  the 
arm  of  Junot  and  the  matter  was  not  noticed.  There 
stood  my  emergency  facing  me  again.  You  had 
deserted.  What  made  you  imagine  you  were 
threatened  with  arrest?" 

"Because  a  gendarme  in  court  dress  laid  his  hand 
on  my  shoulder  and  told  me  I  was  to  come  with 
him." 

"Well,  you  may  have  drawn  the  secret  police 
upon  you.  You  had  been  cutting  a  pretty  figure. 
It  was  probably  wise  to  drop  between  walls  and  get 
out  of  France.  Do  you  know  why  you  were  ar 
rested?" 

"I  think  the  groundless  charge  would  have  been 
an  attack  upon  Napoleon." 

"You  never  attacked  the  emperor!" 

"No.  But  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  such  a 
charge  would  be  sworn  against  me  if  I  ever  came 
to  trial." 

"Perhaps  that  silly  dauphin  story  leaked  out  in 
Paris.  The  emperor  does  hate  a  Bourbon.  But  I 
thought  you  had  tricked  me.  And  the  old  marquis 
never  took  his  eyes  off  the  main  issue.  He  gave 
Eagle  his  arm,  and  was  ready  to  go  in  and  thank 
the  emperor." 

"You  had  to  tell  him?" 

"I  had  to  tell  him." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Not  a  word.  All  the  blood  seemed  to  be  drawn 
out  of  his  veins,  and  his  face  fell  in.  Then  it  burned 


ARRIVINO  343 

red  hot,  and  instead  of  good  friend  and  benefactor, 
I  saw  myself  a  convict.  His  big  staring  blue  eyes 
came  out  of  a  film  like  an  owl's,  and  shot  me 
through.  I  believe  he  saw  everything  I  ever  did  in 
my  life,  and  my  intentions  about  Eagle  most  plainly 
of  all.  He  bowed  and  wished  me  good-night,  and 
took  her  out  of  the  Tuileries." 

"But  you  saw  him  again?" 

"He  never  let  me  see  him  again,  or  her  either.  I 
am  certain  he  forbade  her  to  communicate  with  us. 
They  did  not  go  back  to  Mont-Louis.  They  left 
their  hotel  in  Paris.  I  wrote  imploring  him  to  hold 
the  estates.  My  messages  were  returned.  I  don't 
know  how  he  got  money  enough  to  emigrate.  But 
emigrate  they  did;  avoiding  Castorland,  where  the 
Saint-Michels,  who  brought  her  up,  lived  in  com 
fort,  and  might  have  comforted  her,  and  where  I 
could  have  made  her  life  easy.  He  probably 
dragged  her  through  depths  of  poverty,  before  they 
joined  a  company  bound  for  the  Indiana  Territory, 
where  the  Pigeon  Roost  settlement  was  planted.  I 
have  seen  old  Saint-Michel  work  at  clearing,  and 
can  imagine  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier  sweating 
weakly  while  he  chopped  trees.  It  is  a  satisfaction 
to  know  they  had  Ernestine  with  them.  De  Ferrier 
might  have  plowed  with  Eagle,"  said  the  count 
hotly.  "He  never  hesitated  to  make  use  of  her." 

While  I  had  been  living  a  monk's  studious,  well- 
provided  life,  was  she  toiling  in  the  fields?  I 
groaned  aloud. 

De  Chaumont  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast. 


344  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"It  hurts  me  more  than  I  care  to  let  anybody 
but  you  know,  Lazarre.  If  I  hadn't  received  that 
letter  I  should  have  avoided  you.  I  wish  you  had 
saved  Paul.  I  would  adopt  him." 

"I  think  not,  my  dear  count.'* 

"Nonsense,  boy!  I  wouldn't  let  you  have 
him." 

"You  have  a  child." 

"Her  husband  has  her.  But  let  us  not  pitch  and 
toss  words.  No  use  quarreling  over  a  dead  boy. 
What  right  have  you  to  Eagle's  child?" 

"Not  your  right  of  faithful  useful  friendship. 
Only  my  own  right." 

"What's  that?" 

"Nothing  that  she  ever  admitted." 

"I  was  afraid  of  you,"  said  De  Chaumont,  "when 
you  flowered  out  with  old  Du  Plessy,  like  an  heir 
lost  in  emigration  and  found  again.  You  were  a 
startling  fellow,  dropping  on  the  Faubourg;  and 
anything  was  possible  under  the  Empire.  You  know 
I  never  believed  the  dauphin  nonsense,  but  a  few 
who  remembered,  said  you  looked  like  the  king. 
You  were  the  king  to  her;  above  mating  with  the 
best  of  the  old  nobility.  She  wouldn't  have  mar 
ried  you." 

"Did  she  ever  give  you  reason  to  think  she  would 
marry  you?" 

"She  never  gave  me  reason  to  think  she  would 
marry  anybody.  But  what's  the  use  of  groaning? 
There's  distraction  abroad.  I  took  the  trails  to  see 
you,  when  I  heard  you  were  with  the  troops  on 


ARRIVING  343 

Champlain.  I  shall  be  long  in  France.  What  can 
I  do  for  you,  my  boy?" 

"Nothing,  count.    You  have  already  done  much." 

"She  had  a  foolish  interest  in  you.  The  dauphin! 
• — Too  good  to  sit  at  table  with  us,  you  raw  sav 
age! — Had  to  be  waited  on  by  old  Jean!  And  she 
would  have  had  me  serve  you,  myself!" 

He  laughed,  and  so  did  I.  We  held  hands,  cling 
ing  in  fellowship. 

"I  might  not  have  refused  your  service;  like 
Marquis  de  Ferrier." 

The  count's  face  darkened. 

'Til  not  abuse  him.    He's  dead." 

"Are  you  sure  he's  dead  this  time,  count?" 

"A  Kickapoo  is  carrying  his  scalp.  Trust  my 
runners.  They  have  traced  him  so  much  for  me 
they  know  the  hair  on  his  stubborn  head.  I  must 
go  where  I  can  have  amusement,  Lazarre.  This 
country  is  a  young  man's  country.  I'm  getting  old. 
Adieu.  You're  one  of  the  young  men." 

Some  changes  of  light  and  darkness  passed  over 
me,  and  the  great  anguish  of  my  wound  increased 
until  there  was  no  rest.  However,  the  next  man 
who  visited  me  stood  forth  at  the  side  of  the 
^tretcher  as  Bellenger.  I  thought  I  dreamed  him, 
being  light-headed  with  fever.  He  was  unaccount 
ably  weazened,  robbed  of  juices,  and  powdering  to 
dust  on  the  surface.  His  mustache  had  grown  again, 
and  he  carried  it  over  his  ears  in  the  ridiculous  man 
ner  affected  when  I  saw  him  in  the  fog. 

"Where's  your  potter's  wheel?"  I  inquired. 


346  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

"In  the  woods  by  Lake  George,  sire." 

"Do  you  still  find  clay  that  suits  you?" 

"Yes,  sire." 

"Have  you  made  that  vase  yet?" 

"No,  sire.    I  succeed  in  nothing." 

"You  succeed  in  tracking  me." 

He  swam  before  my  eyes,  and  I  pointed  to  the 
surgeon's  camp-chair. 

"Not  in  your  presence,  sire." 

"Have  you  lost  your  real  dauphin?"  I  inquired. 

"I  have  the  honor  of  standing  before  the  real 
dauphin." 

"So  you  swore  at  Mittau!" 

"I  perjured  myself/' 

"Well,  what  are  you  doing  now?" 

"Sire,  I  am  a  man  in  failing  health.  Before  the 
end  I  have  come  to  tell  you  the  truth." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  do  it?" 

"Sire"— said  Bellenger. 

"Your  king  is  Louis  XVIII,"  I  reminded  him. 

"He  is  not  my  king." 

"Taken  your  pension  away,  has  he?" 

"I  no  longer  receive  anything  from  that  court.'* 

"And  your  dauphin?" 

"He  was  left  in  Europe." 

"Look  here,  Bellenger!  Why  did  you  treat  me 
so?  Dauphin  or  no  dauphin,  what  harm  was  I  do 
ing  you?" 

"I  thought  a  strong  party  was  behind  you.  And 
I  knew  there  had  been  double  dealing  with  me.  You 
represented  some  invisible  power  tricking  me.  I 


ARRIVING  347 

was  beside  myself,  and  faced  it  out  in  Mittau.  I 
have  been  used  shamefully,  and  thrown  aside  when 
I  am  failing.  Hiding  out  in  the  hills  ruined  my 
health." 

"Let  us  get  to  facts,  if  you  have  facts.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  me,  Bellenger?" 

"Yes,  sire." 

"Who  am  I?" 

"Louis  XVII  of  France." 

"What  proof  can  you  give  me?" 

"First,  sire,  permit  a  man  who  has  been  made 
a  wretched  tool,  to  implore  forgiveness  of  his  right 
ful  sovereign,  and  a  little  help  to  reach  a  warmer 
climate  before  the  rigors  of  a  northern  winter  be 
gin." 

"Bellenger,  you  are  entrancing,"  I  said.  "Why 
did  I  ever  take  you  seriously?  Ste.  Pelagic  was  a 
grim  joke,  and  tipping  in  the  river  merely  your 
playfulness.  You  had  better  take  yourself  off  now, 
and  keep  on  walking  until  you  come  to  a  warmer 
climate." 

He  wrung  his  hands  with  a  gesture  that  touched 
my  natural  softness  to  my  enemy. 

"Talk,  then.    Talk,  man.  What  have  you  to  say?" 

"This,  first,  sire.  That  was  a  splendid  dash  you 
made  into  France!" 

"And  what  a  splendid  dash  I  made  out  of  it 
again,  with  a  gendarme  at  my  coat  tails,  and  you 
behind  the  gendarme!" 

"But  it  was  the  wrong  time.  If  you  were  there 
now; — the  French  people  are  so  changeable — " 


348  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"I  shall  never  be  there  again.  His  Majesty  the 
eighteenth  Louis  is  welcome.  What  the  blood  stirs 
in  me  to  know  is,  have  I  a  right  to  the  throne?" 

"Sire,  the  truth  as  I  know  it,  I  will  tell  you.  You 
were  the  boy  taken  from  the  Temple  prison." 

"Who  did  it?" 

"Agents  of  the  royalist  party  whose  names  would 
mean  nothing  to  you  if  I  gave  them." 

"I  was  placed  in  your  hands?" 

"You  were  placed  in  my  hands  to  be  taken  to 
America." 

"I  was  with  you  in  London,  where  two  royalists 
who  knew  me,  recognized  me?" 

"The  two  De  Ferriers." 

"Did  a  woman  named  Madame  Tank  see  me?" 

Bellenger  was  startled. 

"You  were  noticed  on  the  ship  by  a  court-lady 
of  Holland;  a  very  clever  courtier.  I  had  trouble 
in  evading  her.  She  suspected  too  much,  and 
asked  too  many  questions;  and  would  have  you  to 
play  with  her  baby  on  the  deck,  though  at  that  time 
you  noticed  nothing." 

"But  where  does  the  idiot  come  into  my 
story?" 

"Sire,  you  have  been  unfortunate,  but  I  have 
been  a  victim.  When  we  landed  in  New  York  I 
went  directly  and  made  myself  known  to  the  man 
who  was  to  act  as  purveyor  of  your  majesty's  pen 
sion.  He  astonished  me  by  declaring  that  the 
dauphin  was  already  there,  and  had  claimed  the  pen 
sion  for  that  year.  The  country  and  the  language 


ARRIVINQ  349 

were  unknown  to  me.  The  agent  spoke  French, 
it  is  true,  but  we  hardly  understood  each  other.  I 
supposed  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  present  my  cre 
dentials.  Here  wras  another  idiot — I  crave  your 
majesty's  pardon — " 

"Quite  right— at  the  time,  Bellenger." 

— "drawing  the  annuity  intended  for  the  dauphin. 
I  inquired  into  his  rights.  The  agent  showed  me 
papers  like  my  own.  I  asked  who  presented  them. 
He  knew  no  more  of  the  man  than  he  did  of  me. 
I  demanded  to  face  the  man.  No  such  person  could 
be  found.  I  demanded  to  see  the  idiot.  He  was 
shut  in  a  room  and  fed  by  a  hired  keeper.  I  sat 
down  and  thought  much.  Clearly  it  was  not  the 
agent's  affair.  He  followed  instructions.  Good! 
I  would  follow  instructions  also.  Months  would 
have  been  required  to  ask  and  receive  explanations 
from  the  court  of  Monsieur.  He  had  assumed  the 
title  of  Louis  XVIII,  for  the  good  of  the  royalist 
cause,  as  if  there  were  no  prince.  I  thought  I  saw 
what  was  expected  of  me." 

"And  what  did  you  see,  you  unspeakable  scoun 
drel?" 

"I  saw  that  there  was  a  dauphin  too  many,  hope 
lessly  idiotic.  But  if  he  was  the  one  to  be  guarded, 
I  would  guard  him." 

"Who  was  that  idiot?" 

"Some  unknown  pauper.    No  doubt  of  that." 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  me?" 

"A  chief  of  the  Iroquois  Indians  can  tell  yon 
that." 


350  v  A  Z  A  R  R  E; 

"This  is  a  clumsy  story,  Bellenger.    Try  again." 

"Sire—" 

"If  you  knew  so  little  of  the  country,  how  did 
you  find  an  Iroquois  chief?" 

"I  met  him  in  the  woods  when  he  was  hunting.  I 
offered  to  give  you  to  him,  pretending  you  had  the 
annuity  from  Europe.  Sire,  I  do  not  know  why 
trickery  was  practiced  on  me,  or  who  practiced  it: 
why  such  pains  were  taken  to  mix  the  clues  which 
led  to  the  dauphin.  But  afterwards  the  same  agent 
had  orders  to  give  you  two-thirds  and  me  only  one- 
third  of  the  yearly  sum.  I  thought  the  court  was 
in  straits; — when  both  Russia  and  Spain  supported 
it!  I  was  nothing  but  a  court  painter.  But  when 
you  went  to  France,  I  blocked  your  way  with  all 
the  ingenuity  I  could  bring." 

"I  would  like  to  ask  you,  Bellenger,  what  a  man 
is  called  who  attempts  the  life  of  his  king?" 

"Sire,  the  tricks  of  royalists  pitted  us  against 
each  other." 

"That's  enough,  Bellenger.  I  don't  believe  a 
word  you  say,  excepting  that  part  of  your  story 
agreeing  with  Madame  de  Ferrier's.  Put  your 
hand  ander  my  pillow  and  find  my  wallet.  Now  help 
yourself,  and  never  let  me  see  you  again." 

He  helped  himself  to  everything  except  a  few 
shillings,  weeping  because  his  necessities  were  so 
great.  But  I  told  him  I  was  used  to  being  robbed, 
and  he  had  done  me  all  the  harm  he  could;  so  his 
turn  to  pluck  me  naturally  followed. 

Then  I  softened,as  I  always  do  towards  the  claim- 


ARRIVING  351 

ant  of  the  other  part,  and  added  that  we  were  on 
the  same  footing;  I  had  been  a  pensioner  myself. 

"Sire,  I  thank  you,"  said  Bellenger,  having 
shaken  the  wallet  and  poked  his  fingers  into  the 
lining  where  an  unheard-of  gold  piece  could  have 
lodged. 

"It  tickles  my  vanity  to  be  called  sire." 

"You  are  a  true  prince,"  said  Bellenger.  "My  life 
would  be  well  spent  if  I  could  see  you  restored  to 
your  own." 

"So  I  infer,  from  the  valuable  days  you  have 
spent  trying  to  bring  that  result  about." 

"Your  majesty  is  sure  of  finding  support  in 
France." 

"The  last  king  liked  to  tinker  with  clocks.  Per 
haps  I  like  to  tinker  with  Indians." 

"Sire,  it  is  due  to  your  birth — " 

"Never  mind  my  birth,"  I  said.  "I'm  busy  with 
my  life." 

He  bowed  himself  out  of  my  presence  without 
turning.  This  tribute  to  royalty  should  have 
touched  me.  He  took  a  handsome  adieu,  and  did 
not  afterward  seek  further  reward  for  his  service. 
I  heard  in  the  course  of  years  that  he  died  in  New 
Orleans,  confessing  much  regarding  myself  to  peo 
ple  who  cared  nothing  about  it,  and  thought  him 
crazy.  They  doubtless  had  reason,  so  erratic  was 
the  wanderer  whom  I  had  first  consciously  seen 
through  Lake  George  fog.  His  behavior  was  no 
more  incredible  than  the  behavior  of  other  French' 


352  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

men  who  put  a  hand  to  the  earlier  years  of  their 
prince's  life. 

The  third  to  appear  at  my  tent  door  was  Chief 
Williams,  himself.  The  surgeon  told  him  outside 
the  tent  that  it  was  a  dangerous  wound.  He  had 
little  hope  for  me,  and  I  had  indifferent  hope  my 
self,  lying  in  torpor  and  finding  it  an  effort  to  speak. 
But  after  several  days  of  effort  I  did  speak. 

The  chief  sat  beside  me,  concerned  and  silent. 

"Father,"  I  said. 

The  chief  harkened  near  to  my  lips. 

"Tell  me,"  I  begged,  after  resting,  "who  brought 
me  to  you." 

His  dark  sullen  face  became  tender.  "It  was  a 
Frenchman,"  he  answered.  "I  was  hunting  and 
met  him  on  the  lake  with  two  boys.  He  offered  to 
give  you  to  me.  We  had  just  lost  a  son." 

When  I  had  rested  again,  I  asked: 

"Do  you  know  anything  else  about  me?'* 

"No." 

The  subject  was  closed  between  us.  And  all  sub 
jects  were  closed  betwixt  the  world  and  me,  for  my 
face  turned  the  other  way.  The  great  void  of  which 
we  know  nothing,  but  which  our  faith  teaches  us  to 
bridge,  opened  for  me. 


VI 


BUT  the  chief's  and  Skenedonk's  nursing  and 
Indian  remedies  brought  me  face  earthward 
again,  reviving  the  surgeon's  hope. 

When  blood  and  life  mounted,  and  my  torn  side 
sewed  up  its  gap  in  a  healthy  scar,  adding  another 
to  my  collection,  autumn  was  upon  us.  From  the 
hunting  lodges  on  Lake  George,  and  the  Williamses 
of  Longmeadow,  I  went  to  the  scorched  capital  of 
Washington.  In  the  end  the  Government  helped 
me  with  my  Indian  plan,  though  when  Skenedonk 
and  I  pushed  out  toward  Illinois  Territory  we  had 
only  my  pay  and  a  grant  of  land.  Peace  was  not 
formally  made  until  December,  but  the  war  ended 
that  summer. 

Man's  success  in  the  world  is  proportioned  to  the 
number  of  forces  he  can  draw  around  himself  to 
work  with  him.  I  have  been  able  to  draw  some 
forces;  though  in  matters  where  most  people  pro 
tect  themselves,  I  have  a  quality  of  asinine  patience 
which  the  French  would  not  have  tolerated. 

The  Oneidas  were  ready  to  follow  wherever  I  led 
them.  And  so  were  many  families  of  the  Iroquois 
federation.  But  the  Mohawk  tribe  held  back.  How 
ever,  I  felt  confident  of  material  for  an  Indian  state 
when  the  foundation  should  be  laid. 

We  started  lightly  equipped  upon  the  horse 
353 


354  L  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

paths.  The  long  journey  by  water  and  shore 
brought  us  in  October  to  the  head  of  Green  Bay. 
We  had  seen  Lake  Michigan,  of  a  light  transparent 
blueness,  with  fire  ripples  chasing  from  the  sunset. 
And  we  had  rested  at  noon  in  plum  groves  on  the 
vast  prairies,  oases  of  fertile  deserts,  where  pink 
and  white  fruit  drops,  so  ripe  that  the  sun 
preserves  it  in  its  juice.  The  freshness  of  the 
new  world  continually  flowed  around  us.  We  shot 
deer.  Wolves  sneaked  upon  our  trail.  We  slept 
with  our  heels  to  the  campfire,  and  our  heads  on 
our  saddles.  Sometimes  we  built  a  hunter's  shed, 
open  at  front  and  sloping  to  ground  at  back.  To 
find  out  how  the  wind  blew,  we  stuck  a  finger  in 
our  mouths  and  held  it  up.  The  side  which  became 
cold  first  was  the  side  of  the  wind. 

Physical  life  riots  in  the  joy  of  its  revival.  I  was 
so  glad  to  be  alive  after  touching  death  that  I  could 
think  of  Madame  de  Ferrier  without  pain,  and  say 
more  confidently — "She  is  not  dead,"  because  res 
urrection  was  working  in  myself. 

Green  Bay  or  La  Baye,  as  the  fur  hunters  called 
it,  was  a  little  post  almost  like  a  New  England  vil 
lage  among  its  elms:  one  street  and  a  few  outlying 
houses  beside  the  Fox  River.  The  open  world  had 
been  our  tavern;  or  any  sod  or  log  hut  cast  up  like 
a  burrow  of  human  prairie  dogs  or  moles.  We  did 
not  expect  to  find  a  tavern  in  Green  Bay.  Yet  such 
a  place  was  pointed  out  to  us  near  the  Fur  Com 
pany's  block  warehouse.  It  had  no  sign  post,  and 
the  only  visible  stable  was  a  pen  of  logs.  Though 


ARRIVIKO  355 

negro  slaves  were  owned  in  the  Illinois  Territory, 
we  saw  none  when  a  red-headed  man  rushed  forth 
shouting: 

"Sam,  you  lazy  nigger,  come  here  and  take  the 
gentleman's  horses!  Where  is  that  Sam?  Light 
down,  sir,  with  your  Indian,  and  I  will  lead  your 
beasts  to  the  hostler  myself." 

In  the  same  way  our  host  provided  a  supper  and 
bed  with  armies  of  invisible  servants.  Skenedonk 
climbed  a  ladder  to  the  loft  with  our  saddlebags. 

"Where  is  that  chambermaid?"  cried  the  tavern 
keeper. 

"Yes,  where  is  she?"  said  a  man  who  lounged  on 
a  bench  by  the  entrance.  "I've  heard  of  her  so 
often  I  would  like  to  see  her  myself." 

The  landlord,  deaf  to  raillery,  bustled  about  and 
spread  our  table  in  his  public  room. 

"Corn  bread,  hominy,  side  meat,  ven'zin," 
he  shouted  in  the  kitchen.  "Stir  yourself,  you 
black  rascal,  and  dish  up  the  gentleman's  supper." 

Skenedonk  walked  boldly  to  the  kitchen  door 
and  saw  our  landlord  stewing  and  broiling,  per 
forming  the  offices  of  cook  as  he  had  performed 
those  of  stableman.  He  kept  on. scolding  and  har 
rying  the  people  who  should  have  been  at  his  com 
mand: — "Step  around  lively,  Sam.  Tell  the  gentle 
man  the  black  bottle  is  in  the  fireplace  cupboard  if 
he  wants  to  sharpen  his  appetite.  Where  is  that 
little  nigger  that  picks  up  chips?  Bring  me  some 
more  wood  from  the  wood-pile!  I'll  teach  you  to 
go  to  sleep  behind  the  door!" 


356  1^  A  Z  A.  R  R  B 

Our  host  served  us  himself,  running  with  sleeves 
turned  back  to  admonish  an  imaginary  cook.  His 
tap-room  was  the  fireplace  cupboard,  and  it  was 
visited  while  we  ate  our  supper,  by  men  in  elkskin 
trousers,  and  caps  and  hooded  capotes  of  blue  cloth. 
These  Canadians  mixed  their  own  drink,  and  made 
a  cross-mark  on  the  inside  of  the  cupboard  door, 
using  a  system  of  bookkeeping  evidently  agreed 
upon  between  themselves  and  the  landlord.  He 
shouted  for  the  lazy  barkeeper,  who  answered 
nothing  out  of  nothingness. 

Nightfall  was  very  clear  and  fair  in  this  North 
western  territory.  A  man  felt  nearer  to  the  sunset. 
The  region  took  hold  upon  me:  particularly  when 
one  who  was  neither  a  warehouseman  nor  a  Cana 
dian  fur  hunter,  hurried  in  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 

"I  am  Pierre  Grignon,"  he  said. 

Indeed,  if  he  had  held  his  fiddle,  and  tuned  it 
upon  an  arm  not  quite  so  stout,  I  should  have 
known  without  being  told  that  he  was  the  man 
who  had  played  in  the  Saint-Michel  cabin  while 
Annabel  de  Chaumont  climbed  the  chimney. 

We  sat  and  talked  until  the  light  faded.  The 
landlord  brought  a  candle,  and  yelled  up  the  loft, 
where  Skenedonk  had  already  stretched  himself  in 
his  blanket,  as  he  loved  to  do : 

"Chambermaid,  light  up!" 

"You  drive  your  slaves  too  hard,  landlord,"  said 
Pierre  Grignon. 

"You'd  think  I  hadn't  any,  Mr.  Grignon;  for 
they're  never  in  the  way  when  they're  wanted." 


ARRIVING  357 

"One  industrious  man  you  certainly  have." 

"Yes,  Sam  is  a  good  fellow;  but  I'll  have  to  go 
out  and  wake  him  up  and  make  him  rub  the  horses 
down.' 

"Never  mind,"  said  Pierre  Grignon.  "I'm  going 
to  take  these  travelers  home  with  me." 

"Now  I  know  how  a  tavern  ought  to  be  kept," 
said  the  landlord.  "But  what's  the  use  of  my  keep 
ing  one  if  Pierre  Grignon  carries  off  all  the  guests?" 

"He  is  my  old  friend,"  I  told  the  landlord. 

"He's  old  friend  to  everybody  that  comes  to 
Green  Bay.  I'll  never  get  so  much  as  a  sign 
painted  to  hang  in  front  of  the  Palace  Tavern." 

I  gave  him  twice  his  charges  and  he  said: 

"What  a  loss  it  was  to  enterprise  in  the  Bay  when 
Pierre  Grignon  came  here  and  built  for  the  whole 
United  States!" 

The  Grignon  house,  whether  built  for  the  whole 
United  States  or  not,  was  the  largest  in  Green  Bay. 
Its  lawn  sloped  down  to  the  Fox  River.  It  was  a 
huge  square  of  oak  timbers,  with  a  detached  kitch 
en,  sheltered  by  giant  elms.  To  this  day  it  stands 
defying  time  with  its  darkening  frame  like  some 
massive  rock,  the  fan  windows  in  the  gables  keeping 
guard  north  and  south. 

A  hall  divided  the  house  through  the  center,  and 
here  Madame  Grignon  welcomed  me  as  if  I  were 
a  long-expected  guest,  for  this  was  her  custom; 
and  as  soon  as  she  clearly  remembered  me,  led  me 
into  a  drawing-room  where  a  stately  old  lady  sat 
making  lace. 


358  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

This  was  the  grandmother  of  the  house.  Such 
a  house  would  have  been  incomplete  without  a 
grandmother  at  the  hearth. 

The  furniture  of  this  hall  or  family  room  had 
been  brought  from  Montreal;  spindle  chairs  and 
a  pier  table  of  mahogany;  a  Turkey  carpet,  laid 
smoothly  on  the  polished  floor  to  be  spurned  aside 
by  young  dancers  there;  some  impossible  sea  pic 
tures,  with  patron  saints  in  the  clouds  over  mari 
ners;  an  immense  stuffed  sofa,  with  an  arm  divid 
ing  it  across  the  center; — the  very  place  for  those 
head-to-head  conversations  with  young  men  which 
the  girls  of  the  house  called  "twosing."  It  was,  in 
fact,  the  favorite  "twosing"  spot  of  Green  Bay. 

Stools  there  were  for  children,  and  armchairs 
for  old  people  were  not  lacking.  The  small  yellow 
spinning  wheel  of  Madame  Ursule,  as  I  found  after 
wards  Madame  Grignon  was  commonly  called, 
stood  ready  to  revolve  its  golden  disk  wherever  she 
sat. 

The  servants  were  Pawnee  Indians,  moving 
about  their  duties  almost  with  stealth. 

The  little  Grignon  daughter  who  had  stood  lost 
in  wonder  at  the  dancing  of  Annabel  de  Chaumont, 
was  now  a  turner  of  heads  herself,  all  flaxen  white, 
and  contrasting  with  the  darkness  of  Katarina 
Tank.  Katarina  was  taken  home  to  the  Grignon's 
after  her  mother's  death.  Both  girls  had  been  edu 
cated  in  Montreal. 

The  seigniorial  state  in  which  Pierre  Grignon 
lived  became  at  once  evident.  I  found  it  was  the 


ARRIVING  359 

custom  during  Advent  for  all  the  villagers  to  meet 
in  his  house  and  sing  hymns.  On  Christmas  day 
his  tables  were  loaded  for  everybody  who  came. 
If  any  one  died,  he  was  brought  to  Pierre  Grignon's 
for  prayer,  and  after  his  burial,  the  mourners  went 
back  to  Pierre  Grignon's  for  supper.  Pierre  Grig- 
non  and  his  wife  were  god-father  and  god-mother 
to  most  of  the  children  born  at  La  Baye.  If  a  child 
was  left  without  father  and  mother,  Pierre  Grig 
non's  house  became  its  asylum  until  a  home  could 
be  found  for  it.  The  few  American  officers  sta 
tioned  at  the  old  stockade,  nearly  every  evening 
met  the  beauties  of  Green  Bay  at  Pierre  Grignon's, 
and  if  he  did  not  fiddle  for  them  he  led  Madame  in 
the  dancing.  The  grandmother  herself  sometimes 
took  her  stick  and  stepped  through  a  measure  to 
please  the  young  people.  Laughter  and  the  joy  of 
life  filled  the  house  every  waking  hour  of  the  twen 
ty-four.  Funerals  were  never  horrible  there.  In 
stead,  they  seemed  the  mystic  beginning  of  better 
things. 

"Poor  Madame  Tank!  She  would  have  been  so 
much  more  comfortable  in  her  death  if  she  had  re 
lieved  her  mind,"  Madame  Ursule  said,  the  first 
evening,  as  we  sat  in  a  pause  of  the  dancing.  "She 
used  to  speak  of  you  often,  for  seeing  you  made  a 
great  impression  upon  her,  and  she  never  let  us 
forget  you.  I  am  sure  she  knew  more  about  you 
than  she  ever  told  me.  'I  have  an  important  dis 
closure  to  make,'  she  says.  'Come  around  me,  I 


360  L/AZARRK 

want  all  of  you  to  hear  it !'    Then  she  fell  back  and 
died  without  telling  it." 

A  touch  of  mystery  was  not  lacking  to  the  house. 
Several  times  I  saw  the  tail  of  a  gray  gown  disap 
pear  through  an  open  door.  Some  woman  half 
entered  and  drew  back. 

"It's  Madeleine  Jordan/'  an  inmate  told  me  each 
time.  "She  avoids  strangers." 

I  asked  if  Madeleine  Jordan  was  a  relative. 

"Oh,  no,"  Madame  Ursule  replied;  "but  the 
family  who  brought  her  here,  went  back  to  Can 
ada,  and  of  course  they  left  her  with  us." 

Of  course  Madeleine  Jordan,  or  anybody  else 
who  lacked  a  roof,  would  be  left  with  the  Grig- 
nons;  but  in  that  house  a  hermit  seemed  out  of 
place,  and  I  said  so  to  Madame  Ursule. 

"Poor  child!"  she  responded.  "I  think  she  likes 
the  bustle  and  noise.  She  is  not  a  hermit.  What 
difference  can  it  make  to  her  whether  people  are 
around  her  or  not?" 

The  subject  of  Madeleine  Jordan  was  no  doubt 
beyond  a  man's  handling.  I  had  other  matters  to 
think  about,  and  directly  plunged  into  them.  First 
the  Menominees  and  Winnebagoes  must  be  assem 
bled  in  council.  They  held  all  the  desirable  land. 

"We  don't  like  your  Indian  scheme  in  Green 
Bay,"  said  Pierre  Grignon.  "But  if  the  tribes  here 
are  willing  to  sell  their  lands,  other  settlers  can't 
prevent  it." 

He  went  with  me  to  meet  the  savages  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Fox  near  the  stockade,  There 


ARRIVING  3^1 

the  talking  and  eating  lasted  two  days.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  I  had  a  footing  for  our  Iroquois  in  the 
Wisconsin  portion  of  the  Illinois  Territory;  and 
the  savages  who  granted  it  danced  a  war  dance  in 
our  honor.  Every  brave  shook  over  his  head  the 
scalps  he  had  taken.  I  saw  one  cap  of  soft  long 
brown  hair. 

"Eh!"  said  Pierre  Grignon,  sitting  beside  me. 
"Their  dirty  trophies  make  you  ghastly!  Do  your 
eastern  tribes  never  dance  war  dances?" 

After  the  land  was  secured  its  boundaries  had  to 
be  set.  Then  my  own  grant  demanded  attention; 
and  last,  I  was  anxious  to  put  my  castle  on  it  be 
fore  snow  flew.  Many  of  those  late  autumn  nights 
Skenedonk  and  I  spent  camping.  The  outdoor  life 
was  a  joy  to  me.  Our  land  lay  up  the  Fox  River 
and  away  from  the  bay.  But  more  than  one  stormy 
evening,  when  we  came  back  to  the  bay  for 
supplies,  I  plunged  into  the  rolling  water  and  swam 
breasting  the  waves.  It  is  good  to  be  hardy,  and 
sane,  and  to  take  part  in  the  visible  world,  whether 
you  are  great  and  have  your  heart's  desire  or  not. 

When  we  had  laid  the  foundation  of  the  Indian 
settlement,  I  built  my  house  with  the  help  of  skilled 
men.  It  was  a  spacious  one  of  hewn  logs,  chinked 
with  cat-and-clay  plaster.,  showing  its  white  ribs 
on  the  hill  above  the  Fox.  In  time  I  meant  to  cover 
the  ribs  with  perennial  vines.  There  was  a  spring 
near  the  porches.  The  woods  banked  me  on  the 
rear,  and  an  elm  spread  its  colossal  umbrella  over 
the  roof.  Fertile  fields  stretched  at  my  left,  and  on 


362  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

my  right  a  deep  ravine  lined  with  white  birches, 
carried  a  stream  to  the  Fox. 

From  my  stronghold  to  the  river  was  a  long  de 
scent.  The  broadening  and  narrowing  channel 
could  be  seen  for  miles.  A  bushy  island,  beloved 
of  wild  ducks,  parted  the  water,  lying  as  Moses  hid 
in  osiers,  amidst  tall  growths  of  wild  oats.  Lily 
pads  stretched  their  pavements  in  the  oats.  Beyond 
were  rolling  banks,  and  beyond  those,  wooded  hills 
rising  terrace  over  terrace  to  the  dawn.  Many 
a  sunrise  was  to  come  to  me  over  those  hills.  Oaks 
and  pines  and  sumach  gathered  to  my  doorway. 

In  my  mind  I  saw  the  garden  we  afterward  cre 
ated;  with  many  fruit  trees,  beds,  and  winding 
walks,  trellised  seats,  squares  of  flaming  tulips, 
phlox,  hollyhocks,  roses.  It  should  reach  down 
into  the  ravine,  where  humid  ferns  and  rocks  met 
plants  that  love  darkling  ground.  Yet  it  should  not 
be  too  dark.  I  would  lop  boughs  rather  than  have 
a  growing  thing  spindle  as  if  rooted  in  Ste.  Pe- 
lagie! — and  no  man  who  loves  trees  can  do  that 
without  feeling  the  knife  at  his  heart.  What  is 
long  developing  is  precious  like  the  immortal  part 
of  us. 

The  stoicism  that  comes  of  endurance  has 
something  of  death  in  it.  I  prepared  a  home  with 
out  thought  of  putting  any  wife  therein.  I  had 
grown  used  to  being  alone,  with  the  exception  of 
Skenedonk's  taciturn  company.  The  house  was  for 
castle  and  resting  place  after  labor.  I  took  satis 
faction  in  the  rude  furniture  we  made  for  it.  In 


ARRIVING 

after  years  it  became  filled  with  rich  gifts  from  the 
other  side  of  the  world,  and  books  that  have  glad 
dened  my  heart.  Yet  in  its  virginhood,  before  pain 
or  joy  or  achievement  had  entered  there,  before 
spade  struck  the  ground  which  was  to  send  up  food, 
my  holding  on  the  earth's  surface  made  me  feel 
prince  of  a  principality. 

The  men  hewed  a  slab  settle,  and  stationed  it  be 
fore  the  hearth,  a  thing  of  beauty  in  its  rough  and 
lichen-tinted  barks,  though  you  may  not  believe  it. 
My  floors  I  would  have  smooth  and  neatly  joined, 
of  hard  woods  which  give  forth  a  shining  for  wear 
and  polish.  Stools  I  had,  easily  made,  and  one 
large  round  of  a  tree  for  my  table,  like  an  Eastern 
tabouret. 

Before  the  river  closed  and  winter  shut  in,  Sken- 
edonk  and  I  went  back  to  Green  Bay.  I  did  not 
know  how  to  form  my  household,  and  had  it  in  mind 
to  consult  Madame  Ursule.  Pawnees  could  be 
had:  and  many  French  landholders  in  the  territory 
owned  black  slaves.  Pierre  Grignon  himself  kept 
one  little  negro  like  a  monkey  among  the  stately 
Indians. 

Dealing  with  acres,  and  with  people  wild  as 
flocks,  would  have  been  worth  while  if  nothing  had 
resulted  except  our  welcome  back  to  Pierre  Grig- 
non's  open  house.  The  grandmother  hobbled  on 
her  stick  across  the  floor  to  give  me  her  hand. 
Madame  Ursule  reproached  me  with  delaying,  and 
Pierre  said  it  was  high  time  to  seek  winter  quar 
ters.  The  girls  recounted  harvest  reels  and  even 


364  I,  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

weddings,  with  dances  following,  which  I  had  lost 
while  away  from  the  center  of  festivity. 

The  little  negro  carried  my  saddlebags  to  the 
guest  room.  Skenedonk  was  to  sleep  on  the  floor. 
Abundant  preparations  for  the  evening  meal  were 
going  forward  in  the  kitchen.  As  I  mounted  the 
stairway  at  Madame  Ursule's  direction,  I  heard  a 
tinkle  of  china,  her  very  best,  which  adorned  racks 
and  dressers.  It  was  being  set  forth  on  the  mahog 
any  board. 

The  upper  floor  of  Pierre  Grignon's  house  was 
divided  by  a  hall  similar  to  the  one  below.  I  ran 
upstairs  and  halted. 

Standing  with  her  back  to  the  fading  light  which 
came  through  one  fan  window  at  the  hall  end,  was 
a  woman's  figure  in  a  gray  dress.  I  gripped  the 
rail. 

My  first  thought  was:  "How  shall  I  tell  her 
about  Paul?"  My  next  was:  "What  is  the  matter 
with  her?" 

She  rippled  from  head  to  foot  in  the  shiver  of 
rapture  peculiar  to  her,  and  stretched  her  arms  ta 
me  crying  : 

"Paul!  Paul!" 


VII 


,  MADAME!"  I  said,  bewildered,  and 
sick  as  from  a  stab.  It  was  no  comfort 
that  the  high  lady  who  scarcely  allowed  me  to 
kiss  her  hand  before  we  parted,  clung  around  my 
neck.  She  trembled  against  me. 

"Have  you  come  back  to  your  mother,  Paul?" 

"Eagle!"  I  pleaded.  "Don't  you  know  me?  You 
surely  know  Lazarre!" 

She  kissed  me,  pulling  my  head  down  in  her 
arms,  the  velvet  mouth  like  a  baby's,  and  looked 
straight  into  my  eyes. 

"Madame,  try  to  understand!  I  am  Louis!  If 
you  forget  Lazarre,  try  to  remember  Louis!" 

She  heard  with  attention,  and  smiled.  The  pres 
sure  of  my  arms  spoke  to  her.  A  man's  passion 
addressed  itself  to  a  little  child.  All  other  barriers 
which  had  stood  between  us  were  nothing  to  this. 
I  held  her,  and  she  could  never  be  mine.  She  was 
not  ill  in  body;  the  contours  of  her  upturned  face 
were  round  and  softened  with  much  smiling.  But 
mind-sickness  robbed  me  of  her  in  the  moment  of 
finding  her. 

"She  can't  be  insane!"  I  said  aloud.  "Oh,  God, 
anything  but  that!  She  was  not  a  woman  that  could 
be  so  wrecked." 

365 


366  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

Like  a  fool  I  questioned,  and  tried  to  get  some 
explanation. 

Eagle  smoothed  my  arm,  nested  her  hand  in  my 
neck. 

"My  little  boy!  He  has  grown  to  be  a  man — 
while  his  mother  has  grown  down  to  be  a  child! 
Do  you  know  what  I  am  now,  Paul?" 

I  choked  a  sob  in  my  throat  and  told  her  I  did 
not. 

"I  am  your  Cloud-Mother.  I  live  in  a  cloud. 
Do  you  love  me  while  I  am  in  the  cloud?" 

I  told  her  I  loved  her  with  all  my  strength,  in 
the  cloud  or  out  of  it. 

"Will  you  take  care  of  me  as  I  used  to  take  care 
of  you?" 

I  swore  to  the  Almighty  that  she  should  be  my 
future  care. 

"I  need  you  so!  I  have  watched  for  you  in  the 
woods  and  on  the  water,  Paul!  You  have  been 
long  coming  back  to  me." 

I  heard  Madame  Ursule  mounting  the  stairs  to 
see  if  my  room  was  in  order. 

Who  could  understand  the  relation  in  which 
Eagle  and  I  now  stood,  and  the  claim  she  made 
upon  me?  She  clung  to  my  arm  when  I  took  it 
away.  I  led  her  by  the  hand.  Even  this  sight 
caused  Madame  Ursule  a  shock  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"M's'r  Williams!" 

My  hostess  paused  and  looked  at  us. 

"Did  she  come  to  you  of  her  own  accord?" 


ARRIVINO  367 

"Yes,  madame." 

"I  never  knew  her  to  notice  a  stranger  before." 

"Madame,  do  you  know  who  this  is?" 

"Madeleine  Jordan." 

"It  is  the  Marquise  de  Ferrier." 

"The  Marquise  de  Ferrier?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"Did  you  know  her?" 

"I  have  known  her  ever  since  I  can  remem 
ber." 

"The  Marquise  de  Ferrier!  But,  M's'r  Williams, 
did  she  know  you?" 

"She  knows  me,"  I  asserted.  "But  not  as  my 
self.  I  am  sure  she  knows  me!  But  she  confuses 
me  with  the  child  she  lost!  I  cannot  explain  to 
you,  madame,  how  positive  I  am  that  she  recog 
nizes  me;  any  more  than  I  can  explain  why  she 
will  call  me  Paul.  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  so 
you  will  see  the  position  in  which  I  am  placed,  that 
this  lady  is  the  lady  I  once  hoped  to  marry." 

"Saints  have  pity,  M's'r  Williams!" 

"I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

"Bring  her  down  to  the  fire.  Come,  dear  child," 
said  Madame  Ursule,  coaxing  Eagle.  "Nobody  is 
there.  The  bedrooms  can  never  be  so  warm  as  the 
log  fire ;  and  this  is  a  bitter  evening." 

The  family  room  was  unlighted  by  candles,  as 
often  happened.  For  such  an  illumination  in  the 
chimney  must  have  quenched  any  paler  glare.  We 
had  a  few  moments  of  brief  privacy  from  the 
swarming  life  which  constantly  passed  in  and  out. 


368  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

I  placed  Eagle  by  the  fire  and  she  sat  there  obe 
diently,  while  I  talked  to  Madame  Ursule  apart. 

"Was  her  mind  in  this  state  when  she  came  to 
you?" 

"She  was  even  a  little  wilder  than  she  is  now. 
The  girls  have  been  a  benefit  to  her." 

"They  were  not  afraid  of  her?" 

"Who  could  be  afraid  of  the  dear  child?  She  is 
a  lady — that's  plain.  Ah,  M's'r  Williams,  what  she 
must  have  gone  through!" 

"Yet  see  how  happy  she  looks!" 

"She  always  seemed  happy  enough.  She  would 
come  to  this  house.  So  when  the  Jordans  went  to 
Canada,  Pierre  and  I  both  said,  'Let  her  stay/  " 

"Who  were  the  Jordans?" 

"The  only  family  that  escaped  with  their  lives 
from  the  massacre  when  she  lost  her  family.  Ma 
dame  Jordan  told  me  the  whole  story.  They  had 
friends  among  the  Winnebagoes  who  protected 
them." 

"Did  they  give  her  their  name?" 

"No,  the  people  in  La  Baye  did  that.  We  knew 
she  had  another  name.  But  I  think  it  very  likely 
her  title  was  not  used  in  the  settlement  where  they 
lived.  Titles  are  no  help  in  pioneering." 

"Did  they  call  her  Madeleine?" 

"She  calls  herself  Madeleine." 

"How  long  has  she  been  with  your  family?" 

"Nearly  a  year." 

"Did  the  Jordans  tell  you  when  this  change  came 
over  her?" 


ARRIVING  369 

"Yes.  It  was  during  the  attack  when  her  child 
was  taken  from  her.  She  saw  other  children  killed. 
The  Indians  were  afraid  of  her.  They  respect  de 
mented  people;  not  a  bit  of  harm  was  done  to  her. 
They  let  her  alone,  and  the  Jordans  took  care  of 
her." 

The  daughter  and  adopted  daughter  of  the  house 
came  in  with  a  rush  of  outdoor  air,  and  seeing 
Eagle  first,  ran  to  kiss  her  on  the  cheek  one  after 
the  other. 

"Madeleine  has  come  down!"  said  Marie. 

"I  thought  we  should  coax  her  in  here  some 
time,"  said  Katarina. 

Between  them,  standing  slim  and  tall,  their  equal 
in  height,  she  was  yet  like  a  little  sister.  Though 
their  faces  were  unlined,  hers  held  a  divine  youth. 

To  see  her  stricken  with  mind-sickness,  and  the 
two  girls  who  had  done  neither  good  nor  evil,  exist 
ing  like  plants  in  sunshine,  healthy  and  sound, 
seemed  an  iniquitous  contrast. 

If  ever  woman  was  made  for  living  and  dying  in 
one  ancestral  home,  she  was  that  woman.  Yet  she 
stood  on  the  border  of  civilization,  without  a  foot 
hold  to  callher  own.  If  ever  woman  was  made 
for  one  knightly  love  which  would  set  her  in  high 
places,  she  was  that  woman.  Yet  here  she  stood, 
her  very  name  lost,  no  man  so  humble  as  to  do  her 
reverence. 

"Paul  has  come,"  Eagle  told  Katarina  and  Ma 
rie.  Holding  their  hands,  she  walked  between  them 
toward  me,  and  bade  them  notice  my  height.  "I 


370  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

am  his  Cloud-Mother,"  she  said.    "How  droll  it  is 

that  parents  grow  down  little,  while  their  children 

grow  up  big!" 

Madame  Ursule  shook  her  head  pitifully.     But 

the  girls  really  saw  the  droll  side  and  laughed  with 

my  Cloud-Mother. 

Separated  from  me  by  an  impassable  barrier,  she 

touched  me  more  deeply  than  when  I  sued  her 

most.    The  undulating  ripple  which  was  her  pecu 
liar  expression  of  joy  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

I  left  the  room  and  was  flinging  myself  from  the 
house  to  walk  in  the  chill  wind;  but  she  caught  me. 
"I  will  be  good!"  pleaded  my  Cloud-Mother,  her 
face  in  my  breast. 

Her  son  who  had  grown  up  big,  while  she  grew 
down  little,  went  back  to  the  family  room  with 
her. 

My  Cloud-Mother  sat  beside  me  at  table,  and 
insisted  on  cutting  up  my  food  for  me.  While  I 
tried  to  eat,  she  asked  Marie  and  Katarina  and 
Pierre  Grignon  and  Madame  Ursule  to  notice  how 
well  I  behaved.  The  tender  hearted  host  wiped  his 
eyes. 

I  understood  why  she  had  kept  such  hold  upon 
me  through  years  of  separateness.  A  nameless 
personal  charm,  which  must  be  a  gift  of  the  spirit, 
survived  all  wreck  and  change.  It  drew  me,  and 
must  draw  me  forever,  whether  she  knew  me  again 
or  not.  One  meets  and  wakes  you  to  vivid  life  in 
an  immortal  hour.  Thousands  could  not  do  it 
through  eternity. 


ARRIVIKO  371 

The  river  piled  hillocks  of  water  in  a  strong  north 
wind,  and  no  officer  crossed  from  the  stockade. 
Neither  did  any  neighbor  leave  his  own  fire.  It  sel 
dom  happened  that  the  Grignons  were  left  with 
inmates  alone.  Eagle  sat  by  me  and  watched  the 
blaze  streaming  up  the  chimney. 

If  she  was  not  a  unit  in  the  family  group  and  had 
no  part  there,  they  were  most  kind  to  her. 

"Take  care!"  the  grandmother  cried  with  swift 
forethought  when  Marie  and  Katarina  marshaled 
in  a  hopping  object  from  the  kitchen.  "It  might 
frighten  Madeleine." 

Pierre  Grignon  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  bear 
hunt.  Eagle  was  not  frightened.  She  clapped  her 
hands. 

"This  is  a  pouched  turkey!"  Marie  announced, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  while  Katarina  chased  the 
fowl.  It  was  the  little  negro,  his  arms  and  feet 
thrust  into  the  legs  of  a  pair  of  Pierre  Grignon's 
trousers,  and  the  capacious  open  top  fastened  upon 
his  back.  Doubled  over,  he  waddled  and  hopped 
as  well  as  he  could.  A  feather  duster  was  stuck  in 
for  a  tail,  and  his  woolly  head  gave  him  the  uncanny 
look  of  a  black  harpy.  To  see  him  was  to  shed 
tears  of  laughter.  The  pouched  turkey  enjoyed 
being  a  pouched  turkey.  He  strutted  and  gobbled, 
and  ran  at  the  girls ;  tried  to  pick  up  corn  from  the 
floor  with  his  thick  lips,  tumbling  down  and  rolling 
over  in  the  effort;  for  a  pouched  turkey  has  no 
wings  with  which  to  balance  himself.  So  much 
hilarity  in  the  family  room  drew  the  Pawnee  ser- 


372  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  H 

vants.    I  saw  their  small  dark  eyes  in  a  mere  line 
of  open  door,  gazing  solemnly. 

When  the  turkey  was  relieved  from  his  pouching 
and  sent  to  bed,  Pierre  Grignon  took  his  violin. 
The  girls  answered  with  jigs  that  ended  a  reel, 
when  couples  left  the  general  figure  to  jig  it  off. 

When  Eagle  had  watched  them  awhile  she 
started  up,  spread  her  skirts  in  a  sweeping  cour 
tesy,  and  began  to  dance  a  gavotte.  The  fiddler 
changed  his  tune,  and  the  girls  rested  and  watched 
her.  Alternately  swift  and  languid,  with  the 
changes  of  the  movement,  she  saluted  backward 
to  the  floor,  or  spun  on  the  tips  of  rapid  feet.  I 
had  seen  her  dance  many  times,  but  never  with 
such  abandon  of  joy. 

Our  singular  relationship  was  established  in  the 
house,  where  hospitality  made  room  and  apology 
for  all  human  weakness. 

Nobody  of  that  region,  except  the  infirm,  stayed 
indoors  to  shiver  by  a  fire.  Eagle  and  the  girls  in 
their  warm  capotes  breasted  with  me  the  coldest 
winter  days.  She  was  as  happy  as  they  were;  her 
cheeks  tingled  as  pink  as  theirs.  Sometimes  I 
thought  her  eyes  must  answer  me  with  her  old 
self-command;  their  bright  grayness  was  so  nat 
ural. 

I  believed  if  her  delusions  were  humored,  they 
would  unwind  from  her  like  the  cloud  which  she 
felt  them  to  be.  The  family  had  long  fallen  into  the 
habit  of  treating  her  as  a  child,  playing  some  imagi 
nary  character.  She  seemed  less  demented  than 


ARRIVING  373 

walking  in  a  dream,  her  faculties  asleep.  It  was 
somnambulism  rather  than  madness.  She  had  not 
the  expression  of  insane  people,  the  shifty  eyes, 
the  cunning  and  perverseness,  the  animal  and  tor 
pid  presence. 

If  I  called  her  Madame  de  Ferrier  instead  of  my 
Cloud-Mother,  a  strained  and  puzzled  look  replaced 
her  usual  satisfaction.  I  did  not  often  use  the  name, 
nor  did  I  try  to  make  her  repeat  my  own.  It  was 
my  daily  effort  to  fall  in  with  her  happiness,  for  if 
she  saw  any  anxiety  she  was  quick  to  plead: 

"Don't  you  like  me  any  more,  Paul?  Are  you 
tired  of  me,  because  I  am  a  Cloud-Mother?" 

"No,"  I  would  answer.  "Lazarre  will  never  be 
tired  of  you." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  growing  smaller?  Will  you 
love  me  if  I  shrink  to  a  baby?" 

"I  will  love  you." 

"I  used  to  love  you  when  you  were  so  tiny,  Paul, 
before  you  knew  how  to  love  me  back.  If  I  forget 
how" — she  clutched  the  lapels  of  my  coat — "will 
you  leave  me  then?" 

"Eagle,  say  this:  'Lazarre  cannot  leave  me.'" 

"Lazarre  cannot  leave  me." 

I  heard  her  repeating  this  at  her  sewing.  She 
boasted  to  Marie  Grignon — "Lazarre  cannot  leave 
me! — Paul  taught  me  that." 

My  Cloud-Mother  asked  me  to  tell  her  the 
stories  she  used  to  tell  me.  She  had  forgotten 
them. 


374  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

"I  am  the  child  now,"  she  would  say.  "Tell  me 
the  stories." 

I  repeated  mythical  tribe  legends,  gathered  from 
Skenedonk  on  our  long  rides,  making  them  as  elo 
quent  as  I  could.  She  listened,  holding  her  breath, 
or  sighing  with  contentment. 

If  any  one  in  the  household  smiled  when  she  led 
me  about  by  the  hand,  there  was  a  tear  behind  the 
smile. 

She  kept  herself  in  perfection,  bestowing  un 
ceasing  care  upon  her  dress,  which  was  always 
gray. 

"I  have  to  wear  gray;  I  am  in  a  cloud,"  she  had 
said  to  the  family. 

"We  have  used  fine  gray  stuff  brought  from 
Holland,  and  wools  that  Mother  Ursule  got  from 
Montreal,"  Katarina  told  me.  "The  Pawnees  dye 
with  vegetable  colors.  But  they  cannot  make  the 
pale  gray  she  loves." 

Eagle  watched  me  with  maternal  care.  If  a  hair 
dropped  on  my  collar  she  brushed  it  away,  and 
smoothed  and  settled  my  cravat.  The  touch  of  my 
Cloud-Mother,  familiar  and  tender,  like  the  touch 
of  a  wife,  charged  through  me  with  torture,  because 
she  was  herself  so  unconscious  of  it. 

Before  I  had  been  in  the  house  a  week  she  made 
a  little  pair  of  trousers  a  span  long,  and  gave  them 
to  me.  Marie  and  Katarina  turned  their  faces  to 
laugh.  My  Cloud-Mother  held  the  garment  up  for 
their  inspection,  and  was  not  at  all  sensitive  to  the 
giggles  it  provoked. 


ARRIVING  375 

"I  made  over  an  old  pair  of  his  father's,"  she 
said. 

The  discarded  breeches  used  by  the  pouched  tur 
key  had  been  devoted  to  her  whim.  Every  stitch 
was  neatly  set.  I  praised  her  beautiful  needlework, 
and  she  said  she  would  make  me  a  coat. 

Skenedonk  was  not  often  in  the  house.  He  took 
to  the  winter  hunting  and  snow-shoeing  with  vigor. 
Whenever  he  came  indoors  I  used  to  see  him 
watching  Madame  de  Ferrier  with  saturnine  wist- 
fulness.  She  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  would 
stand  gazing  at  her  while  she  sewed;  being  privi 
leged  as  an  educated  Indian  and  my  attendant,  to 
enter  the  family  room  where  the  Pawnees  came 
only  to  serve.  They  had  the  ample  kitchen  and  its 
log  fire  to  themselves.  I  wondered  what  was  work 
ing  in  Skenedonk's  mind,  and  if  he  repented  call 
ing  one  so  buffeted,  a  sorceress. 

Kindly  ridicule  excited  by  the  incongruous 
things  she  did,  passed  over  without  touching  her. 
She  was  enveloped  in  a  cloud,  a  thick  case  guarding 
overtaxed  mind  and  body,  and  shutting  them  in  its 
pellucid  chrysalis.  The  Almighty  arms  were  rest 
ing  her  on  a  mountain  of  vision.  She  had  forgot 
how  to  weep.  She  was  remembering  how  to  laugh. 

The  more  I  thought  about  it  the  less  endurable 
it  became  to  have  her  dependent  upon  the  Grig- 
nons.  My  business  affairs  with  Pierre  Grignon 
made  it  possible  to  transfer  her  obligations  to  my 
account.  The  hospitable  man  and  his  wife  objected, 
but  when  they  saw  how  I  took  it  to  heart,  gave  me 


376  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

my  way.  I  told  them  I  wished  her  to  be  regarded 
as  my  wife,  for  I  should  never  have  another;  and 
while  it  might  remain  impossible  for  her  to  marry 
me,  on  my  part  I  was  bound  to  her. 

"You  are  young,  M's'r  Williams,"  said  Madame 
Ursule.  "You  have  a  long  life  before  you.  A  man 
wants  comfort  in  his  house.  And  if  he  makes 
wealth,  he  needs  a  hand  that  knows  how  to  dis 
tribute  and  how  to  save.  She  could  never  go  to 
your  home  as  she  is." 

"I  know  it,  madame." 

"You  will  change  your  mind  about  a  wife." 

"Madame,  I  have  not  changed  my  mind  since  I 
first  wanted  her.  It  is  not  a  mind  that  changes." 

"Well,  that's  unusual.  Young  men  are  often 
fickle.  You  never  made  proposals  for  her?" 

"I  did,  madame,  after  her  husband  died." 

"But  she  was  still  a  wife — the  wife  of  an  old  man 
— in  the  Pigeon  Roost  settlement." 

"Her  father  married  her  to  a  cousin  nearly  as 
old  as  himself,  when  she  was  a  child.  Her  hus 
band  was  reported  dead  while  he  was  in  hiding.  She 
herself  thought,  and  so  did  her  friends,  that  he  was 
dead." 

"I  see.  Eh!  these  girls  married  to  old  men! 
Madame  Jordan  told  me  Madeleine's  husband  was 
very  fretful.  He  kept  himself  like  silk,  and  scarcely 
let  the  wind  blow  upon  him  for  fear  of  injuring  his 
health.  When  other  men  were  out  toiling  at  the 
clearings,  he  sat  in  his  house  to  avoid  getting  chills 
and  fever  in  the  sun.  It  was  well  for  her  that  she 


ARRIVIKO  377 

had  a  faithful  servant.  Madeleine  and  the  servant 
kept  the  family  with  their  garden  and  corn  field. 
They  never  tasted  wild  meat  unless  the  other  set 
tlers  brought  them  venison.  Madame  Jordan  said 
they  always  returned  a  present  of  herbs  and  vege 
tables  from  their  garden.  It  grew  for  them  better 
than  any  other  garden  in  the  settlement.  Once  the 
old  man  did  go  out  with  a  hunting  party,  and  got 
lost.  The  men  searched  for  him  three  days,  and 
found  him  curled  up  in  a  hollow  tree,  waiting  to  be 
brought  in.  They  carried  him  home  on  a  litter  and 
he  popped  his  head  into  the  door  and  said:  'Here 
I  am,  child!  You  can't  kill  me!'  " 

"What  did  Madame  de  Ferrier  say?" 

"Nothing.  She  made  a  child  of  him,  as  if  he  were 
her  son.  He  was  in  his  second  childhood,  no 
doubt.  And  Madame  Jordan  said  she  appeared  to 
hold  herself  accountable  for  the  losses  and  crosses 
that  made  him  so  fretful.  The  children  of  the  emi 
gration  were  brought  up  to  hardship,  and  accepted 
everything  as  their  elders  could  not  do." 

"I  thought  the  Marquis  de  Ferrier  a  courteous 
gentleman." 

"Did  you  ever  see  him?" 

"Twice  only." 

"He  used  to  tell  his  wife  he  intended  to  live  a 
hundred  years.  And  I  suppose  he  would  have  done 
it,  if  he  had  not  been,  tomahawked  and  scalped. 
'You'll  never  get  De  Chaumont,'  he  used  to  say  to 
her.  I'll  see  that  he  never  gets  you!'  I  remember 
the  name  very  well,  because  it  was  the  name  of  that 


378  1^  A.  Z  A.  R  R  B 

pretty  creature  who  danced  for  us  in  the  cabin  on 
Lake  George." 

"De  Chaumont  was  her  father/'  I  said.  "He 
would  have  married  Madame  de  Ferrier,  and  re 
stored  her  estate,  if  she  had  accepted  him,  and  the 
marquis  had  not  come  back." 

"Saints  have  pity!"  said  Madame  Ursule.  "And 
the  poor  old  man  must  make  everybody  and  himself 
so  uncomfortable!" 

"But  how  could  he  help  living?" 

'True  enough.  God's  times  are  not  ours.  But 
see  what  he  has  made  of  her!" 

I  thought  of  my  Cloud-Mother  walking  enclosed 
from  the  world  upon  a  height  of  changeless  youth. 
She  could  not  feel  another  shock.  She  was  past 
both  ambition  and  poverty.  If  she  had  ever  felt  the 
sweet  anguish  of  love — Oh!  she  must  have  under 
stood  when  she  kissed  me  and  said:  "I  will  come 
to  you  sometime!" — the  anguish — the  hoping,  wait 
ing,  expecting,  receiving  nothing,  all  were  gone  by. 
Even  mother  cares  no  longer  touched  her.  Paul 
was  grown.  She  could  not  be  made  anything  that 
was  base.  Unseen  forces  had  worked  with  her  and 
would  work  with  her  still. 

"You  told  me,"  I  said  to  Madame  Ursule,  "the 
Indians  were  afraid  of  her  when  they  burned  the 
settlement.  Was  the  change  so  sudden?" 

"Madame  Jordan's  story  was  like  this:  It  hap 
pened  in  broad  daylight.  Two  men  went  into  the 
woods  hunting  bee  trees.  The  Indians  caught  and 
killed  them  within  two  miles  of  the  clearing — some 


ARRIVING-  379 

of  those  very  Winnebagoes  you  treated  with  for 
your  land.  It  was  a  sunshiny  day  in  September. 
You  could  hear  the  poultry  crowing,  and  the  chil 
dren  playing  in  the  dooryards.  Madeleine's  little 
Paul  was  never  far  away  from  her.  The  Indians 
rushed  in  with  yells  and  finished  the  settlement  in 
a  few  minutes.  Madame  Jordan  and  her  family 
were  protected,  but  she  saw  children  dashed  against 
trees,  and  her  neighbors  struck  down  and  scalped 
before  she  could  plead  for  them.  And  little  good 
pleading  would  have  done.  An  Indian  seized  Paul. 
His  father  and  the  old  servant  lay  dead  across  the 
doorstep.  His  mother  would  not  let  him  go.  The 
Indian  dragged  her  on  her  knees  and  struck  her  on 
the  head.  Madame  Jordan  ran  out  at  the  risk  of 
being  scalped  herself,  and  got  the  poor  girl  into  her 
cabin.  The  Indian  came  back  for  Madeleine's  scalp. 
Madeleine  did  not  see  him.  She  never  seemed  to 
notice  anybody  again.  She  stood  up  quivering  the 
whole  length  of  her  body,  and  laughed  in  his  face. 
It  was  dreadful  to  hear  her  above  the  cries  of  the 
children.  The  Indian  went  away  like  a  scared 
hound.  And  none  of  the  others  would  touch  her." 

After  I  heard  this  story  I  was  thankful  every 
day  that  Eagle  could  not  remember;  that  natural 
happiness  had  its  way  with  her  elastic  body. 

Madame  Ursule  told  me  the  family  learned  to 
give  her  liberty.  She  rowed  alone  upon  the  river, 
and  went  where  she  pleased.  The  men  in  La  Baye 
would  step  aside  for  her.  Strangers  disturbed  her 


380  L,  A-  Z  A  R  R  E} 

by  bringing  the  consciousness  of  something  un 
usual. 

Once  I  surprised  Marie  and  Katarina  sitting 
close  to  the  fire  at  twilight,  talking  about  lovers. 
Eagle  was  near  them  on  a  stool. 

"That  girl,"  exclaimed  Katarina,  speaking  of  the 
absent  with  strong  disapproval,  "is  one  of  the  kind 
that  will  let  another  girl  take  her  sweetheart  and 
then  sit  around  and  look  injured !  Now  if  she  could 
get  him  from  me  she  might  have  him!  But  she'd 
have  to  get  him  first!" 

Eagle  listened  in  the  attitude  of  a  young  sister, 
giving  me  to  understand  by  a  look  that  wisdom 
flowed,  and  she  was  learning. 

We  rose  one  morning  to  find  the  world  buried  in 
snow.  The  river  was  frozen  and  its  channel  padded 
thick.  As  for  the  bay,  stretches  of  snow  fields,  with 
dark  pools  and  broken  gray  ridges  met  ice  at  the 
end  of  the  world. 

It  was  so  cold  that  paper  stuck  to  the  fingers  like 
feathers,  and  the  nails  tingled  with  frost.  The  white 
earth  creaked  under  foot,  and  when  a  sled  went  by 
the  snow  cried  out  in  shrill  long  resistance,  a  spirit 
complaining  of  being  trampled.  Explosions  came 
from  the  river,  and  elm  limbs  and  timbers  of  the 
house  startled  us.  White  fur  clothed  the  inner  key 
holes.  Tree  trunks  were  black  as  ink  against  a 
background  of  snow.  The  oaks  alone  kept  their 
dried  foliage,  which  rattled  like  many  skeletons, 
instead  of  rustling  in  its  faded  redness,  because 
there  was  no  life  in  it. 


ARRIVIKO  381 

But  the  colder  it  grew  the  higher  Grignon's  log 
fires  mounted.  And  when  channels  were  cut  in  the 
snow  both  along  the  ridge  above  Green  Bay,  and 
across  country  in  every  direction,  French  trains 
moved  out  with  jangling  bells,  and  maids  and  men 
uttered  voice  sounds  which  spread  as  by  miracle  on 
the  diffusing  air  from  horizon  to  horizon.  You  could 
hear  the  officers  speaking  across  the  river;  and 
dogs  were  like  to  shake  the  sky  down  with  their 
barking.  Echoes  from  the  smallest  noises  were 
born  in  that  magnified,  glaring  world. 

The  whole  festive  winter  spun  past.  Marie  and 
Katarina  brought  young  men  to  the  peaks  of  hope 
in  the  "twosing"  seat,  and  plunged  them  down  to 
despair,  quite  in  the  American  fashion.  Christmas 
and  New  Year's  days  were  great  festivals,  when 
the  settlement  ate  and  drank  at  Pierre  Grignon's 
expense,  and  made  him  glad  as  if  he  fathered  the 
whole  post.  Madame  Grignon  spun  and  looked 
to  the  house.  And  a  thousand  changes  passed 
over  the  landscape.  But  in  all  that  time  no  one 
could  see  any  change  in  my  Cloud-Mother.  She 
sewed  like  a  child.  She  laughed,  and  danced  ga 
vottes.  She  trod  the  snow,  or  muffled  in  robes, 
with  Madame  Ursule  and  the  girls,  flew  over  it  in 
a  French  train;  a  sliding  box  with  two  or  three 
horses  hitched  tandem.  Every  evening  I  sat  by  her 
side  at  the  fire,  while  she  made  little  coats  and 
trousers  for  me.  But  remembrance  never  came 
into  her  eyes.  The  cloud  stood  round  about  her  as 
it  did  when  I  first  tried  to  penetrate  it. 


382  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

My  own  dim  days  were  otien  in  mind.  I  tried 
to  recall  sensations.  But  I  had  lived  a  purely 
physical  life.  Her  blunders  of  judgment  and  de 
lusion  of  bodily  shrinking  were  no  part  of  my  ex 
perience.  The  thinking  self  in  me  had  been  par 
alyzed.  While  the  thinking  self  in  her  was  alive, 
in  a  cloud.  Both  of  us  were  memoryless,  excepting 
her  recollection  of  Paul. 

After  March  sent  the  ice  out  of  river  and  bay, 
spring  came  with  a  rush  as  it  comes  in  the  north. 
Perhaps  many  days  it  was  silently  rising  from  tree 
roots.  In  February  we  used  to  say: — "This  air  is 
like  spring."  But  after  such  bold  speech  the  arctic 
region  descended  upon  us  again,  and  we  were 
snowed  in  to  the  ears.  Yet  when  the  end  of  March 
unlocked  us,  it  seemed  we  must  wait  for  the  month 
of  Mary  to  give  us  soft  air  and  blue  water.  Then 
suddenly  it  was  spring,  and  every  living  soul  knew 
it.  Life  revived  with  passion.  Longings  which  you 
had  forgotten  came  and  took  you  by  the  throat, 
saying,  "You  shall  no  longer  be  satisfied  with  nega 
tive  peace.  Roupe,  and  live!"  Then  flitting,  ex 
quisite,  purple  flaws  struck  across  milk-opal  water 
in  the  bay.  Fishing  boats  lifted  themselves  in 
mirage,  sailing  lightly  above  the  water;  and  islands 
sat  high,  with  a  cushion  of  air  under  them. 

The  girls  manifested  increasing  interest  in  what 
they  called  the  Pigeon  Roost  settlement  affair. 
Madame  Ursule  had  no  doubt  told  them  what  I 
said.  They  pitied  my  Cloud-Mother  and  me  with 


ARRIVING  383 

the  condescending  pity  of  the  very  young,  and 
unguardedly  talked  where  they  could  be  heard. 

"Oh,  she'll  come  to  her  senses  some  time,  and 
he'll  marry  her  of  course,"  was  the  conclusion  they 
invariably  reached;  for  the  thing  must  turn  out 
well  to  meet  their  approval.  How  could  they  fore 
see  what  was  to  happen  to  people  whose  lives  held 
such  contrasts? 

"Father  Pierre  says  he's  nearly  twenty-eight;  I 
call  him  an  old  bachelor,"  declared  Katarina;  "and 
she  was  a  married  woman.  They  are  really  very 
old  to  be  in  love." 

"You  don't  know  what  you'll  do  when  you  are 
old,"  said  Marie. 

"Ah,  I  dread  it,"  groaned  Katarina. 

"So  do  I." 

"But  there  is  grandmother.  She  doesn't  mind  it. 
And  beaux  never  trouble  her  now." 

"No,"  sighed  the  other.  "Beaux  never  trouble 
her  now." 

Those  spring  days  I  was  wild  with  restlessness. 
Life  revived  to  dare  things.  We  heard  afterwards 
that  about  that  time  the  meteor  rushed  once  more 
across  France.  Napoleon  landed  at  a  Mediterra 
nean  port,  gathering  force  as  he  marched,  swept 
Louis  XVIII  away  like  a  cobweb  in  his  path,  and 
moved  on  to  Waterloo.  The  greatest  Frenchman 
that  ever  lived  fell  ultimately  as  low  as  St.  Helena, 
and  the  Bourbons  sat  again  upon  the  throne.  But 
the  changes  of  which  I  knew  nothing  affected  me 
in  the  Illinois  Territory. 


384  I,  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

Sometimes  I  waked  at  night  and  sat  up  in  bed, 
hot  with  indignation  at  the  injustice  done  me, 
which  I  could  never  prove,  which  I  did  not  care  to 
combat,  yet  which  unreasonably  waked  the  fight 
ing  spirit  in  me.  Our  natures  toss  and  change, 
expand  or  contract,  influenced  by  invisible  powers 
we  know  not  why. 

One  April  nigjit  I  sat  up  in  the  veiled  light  made 
by  a  clouded  moon.  Rain  points  multiplied  them 
selves  on  the  window  glass;  I  heard  their  sting. 
The  impulse  to  go  out  and  ride  the  wind,  or  pick 
the  river  up  and  empty  it  all  at  once  into  the  bay, 
or  tear  Eagle  out  of  the  cloud,  or  go  to  France 
and  proclaim  myself  with  myself  for  follower;  and 
other  feats  of  like  nature,  being  particularly  strong 
in  me,  I  struck  the  pillow  beside  me  with  my  fist. 
Something  bounced  from  it  on  the  floor  with  a 
clack  like  wood.  I  stretched  downward  from  one 
of  Madame  Ursule's  thick  feather  beds,  and  picked 
up  what  brought  me  to  my  feet.  Without  letting 
go  of  it  I  lighted  my  candle.  It  was  the  padlocked 
book  which  Skenedonk  said  he  had  burned. 

And  there  the  scoundrel  lay  at  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  wrapped  in  his  blanket  from  head  to 
foot,  mummied  by  sleep.  I  wanted  to  take  him  by 
the  scalp  lock  and  drag  him  around  on  the  floor. 

He  had  carried  it  with  him,  or  secreted  it  some 
where,  month  after  month.  I  could  imagine  how 
the  state  of  the  writer  worked  on  his  Indian  mind. 
He  repented,  and  was  not  able  to  face  me,  but  felt 
obliged  to  restore  what  he  had  withheld.  So  wait- 


ARRIVING  38S 

ing  until  I  slept,  he  brought  forth  the  padlocked 
book  and  laid  it  on  the  pillow  beside  my  head; 
thus  beseeching  pardon,  and  intimating  that  the 
subject  was  closed  between  us. 

I  got  my  key,  and  then  a  fit  of  shivering  seized 
me.  I  put  the  candle  stand  beside  the  pillow  and 
lay  wrapped  in  bedding,  clenching  the  small  chilly 
padlock  and  sharp-cornered  boards.  Remember 
ing  the  change  which  had  come  upon  the  life  re 
corded  in  it,  I  hesitated.  Remembering  how  it  had 
eluded  me  before,  I  opened  it. 

The  few  entries  were  made  without  date.  The 
first  pages  were  torn  out,  crumpled,  and  smoothed 
and  pasted  to  place  again.  Rose  petals  and  violets 
and  some  bright  poppy  leaves,  crushed  inside  its 
lids,  slid  down  upon  the  bedcover. 


VIII 

THE  PADLOCKED  BOOK— In  this  book  I 
am  going  to  write  you,  Louis,  a  letter  which 
will  never  be  delivered;  because  I  shall  burn  it 
when  it  is  finished.  Yet  that  will  not  prevent  my 
tantalizing  you  about  it.  To  the  padlocked  book  I 
can  say  what  I  want  to  say.  To  you  I  must  say 
what  is  expedient. 

That  is  a  foolish  woman  who  does  violence  to 
love  by  inordinate  loving.  Yet  first  I  will  tell  you 
that  I  sink  to  sleep  saying,  "He  loves  me!"  and 
rise  to  the  surface  saying,  "He  loves  me!"  and  sink 
again  saying,  "He  loves  me!"  all  night  long. 

The  days  when  I  see  you  are  real  days,  finished 
and  perfect,  and  this  is  the  best  of  them  all.  God 
forever  bless  in  paradise  your  mother  for  bearing 
you.  If  you  never  had  come  to  the  world  I  should 
not  have  waked  to  life  myself.  And  why  this  is  I 
cannot  tell.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  your  tawny 
head  and  tawny  eyes,  though  you  did  not  notice 
me,  I  said,  "Whether  he  is  the  king  or  not  would 
make  no  difference."  Because  I  knew  you  were 
more  than  the  king  to  me. 

Sire,  you  told  me  once  you  could  not  understand 
why  people  took  kindly  to  you.  There  is  in  you 
a  gentle  dignity  and  manhood,  most  royal.  As 
you  come  into  a  room  you  cast  your  eyes  about 

386 


ARRIVINO  387 

unfearing.  Your  head  and  shoulders  are  erect. 
You  are  like  a  lion  in  suppleness  and  tawny  color, 
which  influences  me  against  my  will.  You  inspire 
confidence.  Even  girls  like  Annabel,  who  feel 
merely  at  their  finger  ends,  and  are  as  well  satisfied 
with  one  husband  as  another,  know  you  to  be  solid 
man,  not  the  mere  image  of  a  man.  Besides  these 
traits  there  is  a  power  going  out  from  you  that 
takes  hold  of  people  invisibly.  My  father  told  me 
there  was  a  man  at  the  court  of  your  father  who 
could  put  others  to  sleep  by  a  waving  of  his  hands. 
I  am  not  comparing  you  to  this  charlatan ;  yet  when 
you  touch  my  hand  a  strange  current  runs  through 
me. 

When  we  were  in  Paris  I  used  to  dress  myself 
every  morning  like  a  priestess  going  to  serve  in  a 
temple.  And  what  was  it  for?  To  worship  one 
dear  head  for  half  an  hour  perhaps. 

You  robbed  one  of  the  sight  of  you  for  two 
months. 

Sophie  Saint-Michel  told  me  to  beware  of  loving 
a  man.  To-day  he  says,  "I  love  you!  I  need  you! 
I  shall  go  to  the  devil  without  you!"  To-morrow 
he  turns  to  his  affairs.  In  six  months  he  says,  "I 
was  a  fool!"  Next  year  he  says,  "Who  was  it  that 
drove  me  wild  for  a  time  last  year?  What  was  her 
name?" 

Is  love  a  game  where  men  and  women  try  to 
outwit  each  other,  and  man  boasts,  "She  loves  me" 
—not  "I  love  her"? 


388  L,  A.  2;  A  R  R  ES 

You  are  two  persons.  Lazarre  belongs  to  me. 
He  follows,  he  thinks  about  me.  He  used  to  slip 
past  my  windows  at  Lake  George,  and  cast  his  eyes 
up  at  the  panes.  But  Louis  is  my  sovereign.  He 
sees  and  thinks  and  acts  without  me,  and  his  lot 
is  apart  from  mine. 

We  are  in  a  ship  going  to  the  side  of  the  world 
where  you  are.  Except  that  we  are  going  towards 
you,  it  is  like  being  pushed  off  a  cliff.  All  my  faith 
in  the  appearances  of  things  is  at  an  end.  I  have 
been  juggled  with.  I  have  misjudged. 

I  could  have  insisted  that  we  hold  Mont-Louis 
as  tenants.  The  count  is  our  friend.  It  is  not  a 
strong  man's  fault  that  a  weak  man  is  weak  and 
unfortunate.  Yet  seeing  Cousin  Philippe  wince, 
I  could  not  put  the  daily  humiliation  upon  him. 
He  is  like  my  father  come  back,  broken,  helpless. 
And  Paul  and  I,  who  are  young,  must  take  care 
of  him  where  he  will  be  least  humbled. 

I  was  over-pampered  in  Mont-Louis  and  Paris. 
I  like  easy  living,  carriages,  long-tailed  gowns, 
jewels,  trained  servants,  music,  and  spectacles  on 
the  stage;  a  park  and  wide  lands  all  my  own;  se 
clusion  from  people  who  do  not  interest  me;  idle 
ness  in  enjoyment. 

I  am  the  devil  of  vanity.  Annabel  has  not  half 
the  points  I  have.  When  the  men  are  around  her  I 
laugh  to  think  I  shall  be  fine  and  firm  as  a  statue 
when  she  is  a  mass  of  wrinkles  and  a  wisp  of  fuzz. 
When  she  is  a  mass  of  wrinkles  and  a  wisp  of  fuzz 


ARRIVINO  389 

she  will  be  riper  and  tenderer  inside.  But  will  the 
men  see  that?  No.  They  will  be  off  after  a  fresher 
Annabel.  So  much  for  men.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  had  but  a  few  months  of  luxury,  and  may  count 
on  the  hardness  that  comes  of  endurance;  for  I 
was  an  exile  from  childhood.  There  is  strength  in 
doing  the  right  thing.  If  there  were  no  God,  if 
Christ  had  never  died  on  the  cross,  I  should  have  to 
do  the  right  thing  because  it  is  right. 

Why  should  we  lay  up  grievances  against  one 
another?  They  must  disappear,  and  they  only 
burn  our  hearts. 

Sometimes  I  put  my  arms  around  Ernestine,  and 
rest  her  old  head  against  me.  She  revolts.  People 
incline  to  doubt  the  superiority  of  a  person  who 
will  associate  with  them.  But  the  closer  our  pov 
erty  rubs  us  the  more  Ernestine  insists  upon  class 
differences. 

There  should  be  a  colossal  mother  going  about 
the  world  to  turn  men  over  her  lap  and  give  them 
the  slipper.  They  pine  for  it. 

Am  I  helping  forward  the  general  good,  or  am  I 
only  suffering  Nature's  punishment? 

A  woman  can  fasten  the  bonds  of  habit  on  a  man, 
giving  him  food  from  her  table,  hourly  strengthen 
ing  his  care  for  her.  By  merely  putting  herself 
before  him  every  day  she  makes  him  think  of  her. 


390  IvAZARRB 

What  chance  has  an  exiled  woman  against  the  fear 
ful  odds  of  daily  life? 

Yet  sometimes  I  think  I  can  wait  a  thousand 
years.  In  sun  and  snow,  in  wind  and  dust,  a 
woman  waits.  If  she  stretched  her  hand  and  said 
"Come/*  who  could  despise  her  so  much  as  she 
would  despise  herself? 

What  is  so  cruel  as  a  man?  Hour  after  hour, 
day  after  day,  year  after  year,  he  presses  the  iron 
spike  of  silence  in. 

Coward! — to  let  me  suffer  such  anguish! 

Is  it  because  I  kissed  you?  That  was  the  highest 
act  of  my  life!  I  groped  down  the  black  stairs  of 
the  Tuileries  blinded  by  light.  Why  are  the  nat 
ural  things  called  wrong,  and  the  unnatural  ones 
just? 

Is  it  because  I  said  I  would  come  to  you  some 
time?  This  is  what  I  meant:  that  it  should  give 
me  no  jealous  pang  to  think  of  another  woman's 
head  on  your  breast;  that  there  is  a  wedlock  which 
appearances  cannot  touch. 

No,  I  never  would — I  never  would  seek  you; 
though  sometimes  the  horror  of  doing  without  you 
turns  into  reproach.  What  is  he  doing?  He  may 
need  me — and  I  am  letting  his  life  slip  away.  Am 
I  cheating  us  both  of  what  could  have  harmed  no 
one? 

It  is  not  that  usage  is  broken  off. 

Yet  if  you  were  to  come,  I  would  punish  you  for 
coming! 


ARRIVING  391 

Fine  heroic  days  I  tell  myself  we  are  marching 
to  meet  each  other.  If  the  day  has  been  partic 
ularly  hard,  I  say,  "Perhaps  I  have  carried  his  load 
too,  and  he  marches  lighter." 

You  have  faults,  no  doubt,  but  the  only  one  I 
could  not  pardon  would  be  your  saying,  "I  repent!" 

The  instinct  to  conceal  defeat  and  pain  is  so 
strong  in  me  that  I  would  have  my  heart  cut  out 
rather  than  own  it  ached.  Yet  many  women  carry 
all  before  them  by  a  little  judicious  whining  and 
rebellion. 

I  never  believe  in  your  unfaith.  If  you  brought 
a  wife  and  showed  her  to  me  I  should  be  sorry  for 
her,  and  still  not  believe  in  your  unfaith. 

Louis,  I  have  been  falling  down  flat  and  crawling 
the  ground.  Now  I  am  up  again.  It  didn't  hurt. 

It  is  the  old  German  fairy  story.  Every  day  gold 
must  be  spun  out  of  straw.  How  big  the  pile  of 
straw  looks  every  morning,  and  how  little  the  hand 
ful  of  gold  every  night ! 

This  prairie  in  the  Indiana  Territory  that  I 
dreaded  as  a  black  gulf,  is  a  grassy  valley. 

I  love  the  garden;  and  I  love  to  hoe  the  Indian 
corn.  It  springs  so  clean  from  the  sod,  and  is  a 
miracle  of  growth.  After  the  stalks  are  around 
my  knees,  they  are  soon  around  my  shoulders.  The 
broad  leaves  have  a  fragrance,  and  the  silk  is  sweet 
as  violets. 


392  Iv  A  %  A  R  R  K 

We  wash  our  clothes  in  the  river.  Women  who 
hoe  corn,  dig  in  a  garden,  and  wash  clothes,  earn 
the  wholesome  bread  of  life. 

To-day  Paul  brought  the  first  bluebells  of  spring, 
and  put  them  in  water  for  me.  They  were  buds; 
and  when  they  bloomed  out  he  said,  "God  has 
blessed  these  flowers." 

We  have  to  nurse  the  sick.  The  goodness  of 
these  pioneer  women  is  unfailing.  It  is  like  the 
great  and  kind  friendship  of  the  Du  Chaumonts. 
They  help  me  take  care  of  Cousin  Philippe. 

Paul  meditated  to-day,  "I  don't  want  to  hurt  the 
Father's  feelings.  I  don't  want  to  say  He  was 
greedy  and  made  a  better  place  for  Himself  in 
heaven  than  He  made  for  us  down  here.  Is  it  nicer 
just  because  He  is  there?" 

His  prayer:  "God  bless  'my  father  and  mother 
and  Ernestine.  God  keep  my  father  and  mother 
and  Ernestine.  And  keep  my  mother  with  me  day 
and  night,  dressed  and  undressed!  God  keep  to 
gether  all  that  love  each  other." 

When  he  is  a  man  I  am  going  to  tell  him,  and 
say:  "But  I  have  built  my  house,  not  wrecked  it. 
I  have  been  yours,  not  love's." 

He  tells  me  such  stories  as  this:  "Once  upon  a 
time  there  was  such  a  loving  angel  came  down. 
And  they  ran  a  string  through  his  stomach  and 
him  on  the  wall.  He  never  whined  a  bic," 


ARRIVINO  393 

The  people  in  this  country,  which  is  called  free, 
are  nearly  all  bound.  Those  who  lack  money  as 
we  do  cannot  go  where  they  please,  or  live  as  they 
would  live.  Is  that  freedom? 

On  a  cool  autumn  night,  when  the  fire  crackles, 
the  ten  children  of  the  settlement,  fighting  or  agree 
ing,  come  running  from  their  houses  like  hens.  We 
sit  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  hearth,  and  I  suffer 
the  often-repeated  martyrdom  of  the  "Fire  Pig." 
This  tale,  invented  once  as  fast  as  I  could  talk,  I 
have  been  doomed  to  repeat  until  I  dread  the 
shades  of  evening. 

The  children  bunch  their  heads  together;  their 
lips  part,  as  soon  as  I  begin  to  say: 

Do  you  see  that  glowing  spot  in  the  heart  of  the 
coals?  That  is  the  house  of  the  Fire  Pig.  One  day 
the  Fire  Pig  found  he  had  no  more  corn,  and  he  was 
very  hungry.  So  he  jumped  out  of  his  house  and 
ran  down  the  road  till  he  came  to  a  farmer's  field. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Farmer,"  said  the  little  pig 
"Have  you  any  corn  for  me  to-day?" 

"Why,  who  are  you?"  said  the  farmer. 

"I'm  a  little  Fire  Pig." 

"No,  I  haven't  any  corn  for  a  Fire  Pig." 

The  pig  ran  on  till  he  came  to  another  farmer's 
field. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Farmer,  have  you  any  corn 
for  me  to-day?" 

"Who  are  you?"  said  the  farmer. 

"Oh8  I'm  the  little  Fire  Pig.'? 


394  L,  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  farmer.  "I  would  give 
you  a  great  bagful  if  you  could  kill  the  snake  which 
comes  every  night  and  steals  my  cattle." 

The  pig  thought,  "How  can  I  kill  that  snake?" 
but  he  was  so  hungry  he  knew  he  should  starve 
without  corn,  so  he  said  he  would  try.  The  farmer 
told  him  to  go  down  in  the  field,  where  the  snake 
came  gliding  at  night  with  its  head  reared  high 
in  air.  The  pig  went  down  in  the  meadow,  and  the 
first  creature  he  saw  was  a  sheep. 

"Baa!"  said  the  sheep.  That  was  its  way  of  say 
ing  "How  do  you  do?"  "Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  the  little  Fire  Pig." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I've  come  to  kill  the  great  snake  that  eats  the 
farmer's  cattle." 

"I'm  very  glad,"  said  the  sheep,  "for  it  takes  my 
lambs.  How  are  you  going  to  kill  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  pig;  "can't  you  help 
me?"  *v.. 

"I'll  give  you  some  of  my  wool." 

The  pig  thanked  the  sheep,  and  went  a  little 
farther  and  met  a  horse.  "He-ee-ee!"  said  the 
horse.  That  was  his  way  of  saying  "How  do  you 
do?"  "Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  the  little  Fire  Pig." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I've  come  to  kill  the  great  snake  that  eats  the 
farmer's  cattle." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  horse;  "for  it  steals 
my  colts.  How  are  you  going  to  do  it?" 


ARRIVINO  395 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  pig.    "Can't  you  help 
me?" 

"I'll  give  you  some  of  the  long  hairs  from  my 
tail,"  said  the  horse. 

The  pig  took  them  and  thanked  the  horse.    And 
when  he  went  a  little  farther  he  met  a  cow. 

"Moo!"  said  the  cow.    That  was  her  way  of  say 
ing  "How  do  you  do?"  "Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  the  little  Fire  Pig." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I've  come  to  kill  the  great  snake  that  eats  the 
farmer's  cattle." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  for  it  steals  my  calves.  How 
are  you  going  to  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know.    Can't  you  help  me?" 

"I'll  give  you  one  of  my  sharp  horns,"  said  the 
cow. 

So  the  pig  took  it  and  thanked  her.  Then  he 
spun  and  he  twisted,  and  he  spun  and  he  twisted, 
and  made  a  strong  woolen  cord  of  the  sheep's  wool. 
And  he  wove  and  he  braided,  and  he  wove  and  he 
braided,  and  made  a  cunning  snare  of  the  horse's 
tail.  And  he  whetted  and  sharpened,  and  he 
whetted  and  sharpened,  and  made  a  keen  dart  of  the 
cow's  horn. 

Now  when  the  little  pig  has  all 

his  materials  ready,  and  sees  the  great  snake  come 
gliding,  gliding — I  turn  the  situation  over  to  the 
children.  What  did  he  do  with  the  rope,  the  snare 
and  the  horn?  They  work  it  out  each  in  his  own 


396  L  A  Z  A  R  R  H 

way.    There  is  a  mighty  wrangling  all  around  the 
hearth. 

One  day  is  never  really  like  another,  though  it 
seems  so. 

Perhaps  being  used  to  the  sight  of  the  Iroquois 
at  Lake  George,  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to 
imagine  what  the  settlers  dread,  and  that  is  an 
attack.  We  are  shut  around  by  forests.  In  primi 
tive  life  so  much  time  and  strength  go  to  the  getting 
of  food  that  we  can  think  of  little  else. 

It  is  as  bad  to  slave  at  work  as  to  slave  at  pleas 
ure.  But  God  may  forgive  what  people  cannot 
help. 

There  is  a  very  old  woman  among  the  settlers 
whom  they  call  Granny.  We  often  sit  together. 
She  cannot  get  a  gourd  edge  betwixt  her  nose  and 
chin  when  she  drinks,  and  has  forgotten  she  ever 
had  teeth.  She  does  not  expect  much;  but  there 
is  one  right  she  contends  for,  and  that  is  the  right 
of  ironing  her  cap  by  stretching  it  over  her  knee. 
When  I  have  lived  in  this  settlement  long  enough, 
my  nose  and  chin  may  come  together,  and  I  shall 
forget  my  teeth.  But  this  much  I  will  exact  of 
fate.  My  cap  shall  be  ironed.  I  will  not — I  will 
not  iron  it  by  stretching  it  over  my  knee! 

Count  du  Chaumont  would  be  angry  if  he  saw 
me  learning  to  weave,  for  instance.  You  would  not 


ARRIVINQ  397 

be  angry.    That  makes  a  difference  between   you 
as  men  which  I  feel  but  cannot  explain. 

We  speak  English  with  our  neighbors.  Paul, 
who  is  to  be  an  American,  must  learn  his  language 
well.  I  have  taught  him  to  read  and  write.  I  have 
taught  him  the  history  of  his  family  and  of  his 
father's  country.  His  head  is  as  high  as  my  breast. 
When  will  my  head  be  as  high  as  his  breast? 

Skenedonk  loves  you  as  a  young  superior  broth 
er.  I  have  often  wondered  what  he  thought  about 
when  he  went  quietly  around  at  your  heels.  You 
told  me  he  had  killed  and  scalped,  and  in  spite  of 
education,  was  as  ready  to  kill  and  scalp  again  as 
any  white  man  is  for  war. 

I  dread  him  like  a  toad,  and  wish  him  to  keep 
on  his  side  of  the  walk.  He  is  always  with  you,  and 
no  doubt  silently  urges,  "Come  back  to  the  wig 
wams  that  nourished  you!" 

Am  I  mistaken?  Are  we  moving  farther  and 
farther  apart  instead  of  approaching  each  other? 
Oh,  Louis,  does  this  road  lead  to  nothing? 

I  am  glad  I  gave  you  that  key.  It  was  given 
thoughtlessly,  when  I  was  in  a  bubble  of  joy.  But 
if  you  have  kept  it,  it  speaks  to  you  every  day. 

Sophie  Saint-Michel  told  me  man  sometimes 
piles  all  his  tokens  in  a  retrospective  heap,  and 
says,  "Who  the  deuce  gave  me  this  or  that?" 

Sophie's  father  used  to  be  so  enraged  at  his  wife 
and  daughter  because  he  could  not  restore  their 


398  L  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

lost  comforts.    But  this  is  really  a  better  disposi 
tion  than  a  mean  subservience  to  misfortune. 

The  children  love  to  have  me  dance  gavottes  for 
them.  Some  of  their  mothers  consider  it  levity. 
Still  they  feel  the. need  of  a  little  levity  themselves. 

We  had  a  great  festival  when  the  wild  roses  were 
fully  in  bloom.  The  prairie  is  called  a  mile  square, 
and  wherever  a  plow  has  not  struck,  acres  of  wild 
roses  grow.  They  hedge  us  from  the  woods  like 
a  parapet  edging  a  court.  These  volunteers  are 
very  thorny,  bearing  tender  claws  to  protect  them 
selves  with.  But  I  am  nimble  with  my  scissors. 

We  took  the  Jordan  oxen,  a  meek  pair  that  have 
broken  sod  for  the  colony,  and  twined  them  with 
garlands  of  wild  roses.  Around  and  around  their 
horns,  and  around  and  around  their  bodies  the  long 
ropes  were  wound,  their  master  standing  by  with 
his  goad.  That  we  wound  also,  and  covered  his 
hat  with  roses.  The  huge  oxen  swayed  aside,  look 
ing  ashamed  of  themselves.  And  when  their  tails 
were  ornamented  with  a  bunch  at  the  tip,  they 
switched  these  pathetically.  Still  even  an  ox  loves 
festivity,  whether  he  owns  to  it  or  not.  We  made  a 
procession,  child  behind  child,  each  bearing  on  his 
head  all  the  roses  he  could  carry,  the  two  oxen 
walking  tandem,  led  by  their  master  in  front. 
Everybody  came  out  and  laughed.  It  was  a  beauti 
ful  sight,  and  cheered  us,  though  we  gave  it  no 
name  except  the  Procession  of  Roses. 

Often  when  I  open  my  eyes  at  dawn  I  hear  music 


A.RRIVINQ  399 

far  off  that  makes  my  heart  swell.  It  is  the  waking 
dream  of  a  king  marching  with  drums  and  bugles. 
While  I  am  dressing  I  hum,  "Oh,  Richard,  O  my 
king!" 

Louis !   Louis !   Louis ! 

I  cannot — I  cannot  keep  it  down!  How  can  I 
hold  still  that  righteousness  may  be  done  through 
me,  when  I  love — love — love — when  I  clench  my 
fists  and  walk  on  my  knees — 

I  aim  a  wicked  woman!  What  is  all  this  sweet 
pretense  of  duty!  It  covers  the  hypocrite  that 
loves — that  starves — that  cries,  My  king! — my 
king! 

Strike  me! — drive  me  within  bounds!  This  long 
repression — years,  years  of  waiting — for  what? — 
for  more  waiting! — it  is  driving  me  mad! 

You  have  the  key. 

I  have  nothing  1 


IX 


MY  GOD!  What  had  she  seen  in  me  to 
love?  I  sat  up  and  held  the  book  against 
my  bosom.  Its  cry  out  of  her  past  filled  the 
world  from  horizon  to  horizon.  The  ox  that 
she  had  wreathed  in  roses  would  have  heard  it 
through  her  silence.  But  the  brutal,  slow  Bourbon 
had  gone  his  way,  turning  his  stupid  head  from 
side  to  side,  leaving  her  to  perish. 

Punctuated  by  years,  bursting  from  eternities  of 
suppression,  it  brought  an  accumulated  force  that 
swept  the  soul  out  of  my  body. 

All  that  had  not  been  written  in  the  book  was  as 
easily  read  as  what  was  set  down.  I  saw  the  monot 
ony  of  her  life,  and  her  gilding  of  its  rudeness,  the 
pastimes  she  thought  out  for  children;  I  saw  her 
nursing  the  helplessness  which  leaned  upon  her,  and 
turning  aside  the  contempt  of  pioneer  women  who 
passionately  admired  strong  men.  I  saw  her  eyes 
waiting  on  the  distant  laggard  who  stupidly  pursued 
his  own  affairs  until  it  was  too  late  to  protect  her.  I 
read  the  entries  over  and  over.  When  day  broke  it 
seemed  to  me  the  morning  after  my  own  death,  such 
knowing  and  experiencing  had  passed  through  me. 
I  could  not  see  her  again  until  I  had  command  of 
myself. 

So  I  dressed  and  went  silently  down  stairs.  The 
400 


ARRIVINQ  40E 

Pawnees  were  stirring  in  the  kitchen.  I  got  some 
bread  and  meat  from  them,  and  also  some  grain 
for  the  horse ;  then  mounted  and  rode  to  the  river. 

The  ferryman  lived  near  the  old  stockade.  Some 
time  always  passed  after  he  saw  the  signals  before 
the  deliberate  Frenchman  responded.  I  led  my 
horse  upon  the  unwieldly  craft  propelled  by  two 
huge  oars,  which  the  ferryman  managed,  running 
from  one  to  another  according  to  the  swing  of  the 
current.  It  was  broad  day  when  we  reached  the 
other  shore;  one  of  those  days,  gray  overhead, 
when  moisture  breaks  upward  through  the  ground, 
instead  of  descending.  Many  light  clouds  flitted 
under  the  grayness.  The  grass  showed  with  a  kind 
of  green  blush  through  its  old  brown  fleece. 

I  saw  the  first  sailing  vessel  of  spring  coming  to 
anchor,  from  the  straits  of  the  great  lakes.  Once 
I  would  have  hailed  that  vessel  as  possible  bearer 
of  news.  Now  it  could  bring  me  nothing  of  any 
importance. 

The  trail  along  the  Fox  river  led  over  rolling 
land,  dipping  into  coves  and  rising  over  hills.  The 
Fox,  steel  blue  in  the  shade,  becomes  tawny  as  its 
namesake  when  its  fur  of  rough  waves  is  combed 
to  redness  in  the  sunlight.  Under  grayness,  with 
a  soft  wind  blowing,  the  Fox  showed  his  blue  coat. 

The  prospect  was  so  large,  with  a  ridge  running 
along  in  the  distance,  and  open  country  spreading 
away  on  the  other  side,  that  I  often  turned  in  my 
saddle  and  looked  back  over  the  half-wooded  trail. 
I  thought  I  saw  a  figure  walking  a  long  way  behind 


402  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  E} 

me,  and  being  alone,  tried  to  discern  what  it  was. 
But  under  that  gray  sky  nothing  was  sharply  de 
fined.  I  rode  on  thinking  of  the  book  in  the  breast 
of  my  coat. 

It  was  certain  I  was  not  to  marry.  And  being 
without  breakfast  and  unstimulated  by  the  sky,  I 
began  to  think  also  what  unstable  material  I  had 
taken  in  hand  when  I  undertook  to  work  with  In 
dians.  Instinctively  I  knew  then  what  a  young 
southern  statesman  named  Jefferson  Davis  whom  I 
first  met  as  a  commandant  of  the  fort  at  Green  Bay 
— afterwards  told  me  in  Washington :  "No  common 
wealth  in  a  republic  will  stand  with  interests  apart 
from  the  federated  whole."  White  men,  who  have 
exclaimed  from  the  beginning  against  the  injustice 
done  the  red  man,  and  who  keep  on  pitying  and 
exterminating  him,  made  a  federated  whole  with 
interests  apart  from  his. 

Again  when  I  looked  back  I  saw  the  figure,  but  it 
was  afoot,  and  I  soon  lost  it  in  a  cove. 

My  house  had  been  left  undisturbed  by  hunters 
and  Indians  through  the  winter.  I  tied  the  horse  to 
a  gallery  post  and  unfastened  the  door.  A  pile  of 
refuse  timbers  offered  wood  for  a  fire,  and  I 
carried  in  several  loads  of  it,  and  lighted  the  virgin 
chimney.  Then  I  brought  water  from  the  spring 
and  ate  breakfast,  sitting  before  the  fire  and  think 
ing  a 'little  wearily  and  bitterly  of  my  prospect  in 
life. 

Having  fed  my  horse,  I  covered  the  fire,  leaving 
a  good  store  of  fuel  by  the  hearth,  and  rode  away 
toward  the  Menominee  and  Winnebago  lands. 


A.RRIVINQ  403 

The  day  was  a  hard  one,  and  when  I  came  back 
towards  nightfall  I  was  glad  to  stop  with  the  offi 
cers  of  the  stockade  and  share  their  mess. 

"You  looked  fagged,"  said  one  of  them. 

"The  horse  paths  are  heavy,"  I  answered,  "and  I 
have  been  as  far  as  the  Indian  lands." 

I  had  been  as  far  as  that  remote  time  when  Eagle 
was  not  a  Cloud-Mother.  To  cross  the  river  and 
see  her  smiling  in  meaningless  happiness  seemed 
more  than  I  could  do. 

Yet  she  might  notice  my  absence.  We  had  been 
housed  together  ever  since  she  had  discovered  me. 
Our  walks  and  rides,  our  fireside  talks  and  evening 
diversions  were  never  separate.  At  Pierre  Grig- 
non's  the  family  flocked  in  companies.  When  the 
padlocked  book  sent  me  out  of  the  house  I  forgot 
that  she  was  used  to  my  presence  and  might  be  dis 
turbed  by  an  absence  no  one  could  explain. 

"The  first  sailing  vessel  is  in  from  the  straits," 
said  the  lieutenant. 

"Yes,  I  saw  her  come  to  anchor  as  I  rode  out  this 
morning." 

"She  brought  a  passenger." 

"Anybody  of  importance?" 

"At  first  blush,  no.    At  second  blush,  yes." 

"Why  'no'  at  first  blush?" 

"Because  he  is  only  a  priest." 

"Only  a  priest,  haughty  officer!  Are  civilians 
and  churchmen  dirt  under  army  feet?" 

The  lieutenant  grinned. 

"When  you  see  a  missionary  priest  landing  to 


404  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  K 

confess  a  lot  of  Canadians,  he  doesn't  seem  quite 
so  important,  as  a  prelate  from  Ghent,  for  instance." 

"Is  this  passenger  a  prelate  from  Ghent?" 

"That  is  where  the  second  blush  comes  in.  He 
is." 

"How  do  you  know?'* 

"I  saw  him,  and  talked  with  him." 

"What  is  he  doing  in  Green  Bay?" 

"Looking  at  the  country.  He  was  inquiring  for 
you." 

"For  me!" 

"Yes." 

"What  could  a  prelate  from  Ghent  want  with 
me?" 

"Says  he  wants  to  make  inquiries  about  the  na 
tive  tribes." 

"Oh!  Did  you  recommend  me  as  an  expert  in 
native  tribes?" 

"Naturally.  But  not  until  he  asked  if  you  were 
here." 

"He  mentioned  my  name?" 

"Yes.  He  wanted  to  see  you.  You'll  not  have 
to  step  out  of  your  way  to  gratify  him." 

"From  that  I  infer  there  is  a  new  face  at  Pierre 
Grignon's." 

"Your  inference  is  correct.  The  Grignons  al 
ways  lodge  the  priests,  and  a  great  man  like  this  one 
will  be  certainly  quartered  with  them." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"A  smooth  and  easy  gentleman." 

"In  a  cassock?" 


ARRIVING  405 

'Tell  a  poor  post  lieutenant  what  a  cassock  is." 

"The  long-skirted  black  coat  reaching  to  the 
heels." 

"Our  missionary  priests  don't  wear  it  here. 
He  has  the  bands  and  broad  hat  and  general  ap 
pearance  of  a  priest,  but  his  coat  isn't  very  long." 

"Then  he  has  laid  aside  the  cassock  while  travel 
ing  through  this  country." 

The  prelate  from  Ghent,  no  doubt  a  common 
priest,  that  the  lieutenant  undertook  to  dignify, 
slipped  directly  out  of  my  mind. 

Madame  Ursule  was  waiting  for  me,  on  the  gal 
lery  with  fluted  pillars  at  the  front  of  the  house. 

"M's'r  Williams,  where  is  Madeleine?" 

Her  anxiety  vibrated  through  the  darkness. 

"Isn't  she  here,  madame  ?" 

"She  has  not  been  seen  to-day." 

We  stood  in  silence,  then  began  to  speak  to 
gether. 

"But,  madame " 

"M's'r  Williams " 

"I  went  away  early " 

"When  I  heard  from  the  Pawnees  that  you  had 
gone  off  on  horseback  so  early  I  thought  it  possible 
you  might  have  taken  her  with  you." 

"Madame,  how  could  I  do  that?" 

"Of  course  you  wouldn't  have  done  that.  But 
we  can't  find  her.  We've  inquired  all  over  La 
Baye.  She  left  the  house  when  no  one  saw  her.  She 
was  never  out  after  nightfall  before." 

"But,  madame,  she  must  be  here!" 


406  IvAZARRK 

"Oh,  mVr,  my  hope  was  that  you  knew  where 
she  is — she  has  followed  you  about  so!  The  poor 
child  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  river!" 

"She  can't  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  river!"  I 
retorted. 

The  girls  ran  out.  They  were  dressed  for  a  dance, 
and  drew  gauzy  scarfs  around  their  anxious  faces. 
The  house  had  been  searched  from  ground  to  attic 
more  than  once.  They  were  sure  she  onust  be  hid 
ing  from  them. 

I  remembered  the  figure  that  appeared  to  me  on 
the  trail.  My  heart  stopped.  I  could  not  humil 
iate  my  Cloud-Mother  by  placing  her  before  them 
in  the  act  of  tracking  me  like  a  dog.  I  could  not 
tell  any  one  about  it,  but  asked  for  Skenedonk. 

The  Indian  had  been  out  on  the  river  in  a  canoe. 
He  came  silently,  and  stood  near  me.  The  book 
was  between  us.  I  had  it  in  the  breast  of  my  coat, 
and  he  had  it  on  his  conscience. 

"Bring  out  your  horse  and  get  me  a  fresh  one," 
I  said. 

"Where  shall  I  find  one?" 

"Pierre  will  give  you  one  of  ours,"  said  Madame 
Ursule.  "But  you  must  eat." 

"I  had  my  supper  with  the  officers  of  the  fort, 
madame.  I  would  have  made  a  briefer  stay  if  I  had 
known  what  had  happened  on  this  side  of  the 
river." 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  M's'r  Williams,  there  is  an 
abbe  here  from  Europe.  He  asked  for  you." 

"I  cannot  see  him  to-night," 


ARRIVINQ  407 

Skenedonk  drew  near  me  to  speak,  but  I  was 
impatient  of  any  delay.  We  went  into  the  hous~e, 
and  Madame  Ursule  said  she  would  bring  a  blanket 
and  some  food  to  strap  behind  my  saddle.  The  girls 
helped  her.  There  was  a  hush  through  the  jolly 
house.  The  master  bustled  out  of  the  family  room. 
I  saw  behind  him,  standing  as  he  had  stood  at  Mit- 
tau,  a  priest  of  fine  and  sweet  presence,  waiting  for 
Pierre  Grignon  to  speak  the  words  of  introduction. 

"It  is  like  seeing  France  again!"  exclaimed  the 
master  of  the  house.  "Abbe  Edgeworth,  this  is 
MVr  Williams." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  abbe  to  me  with  perfect 
courtesy,  "believe  me,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Monsieur,"  I  answered,  giving  him  as  brief  no 
tice  as  he  had  given  me  in  Mittau,  yet  without 
rancor; — there  was  no  room  in  me  for  that.  "You 
have  unerringly  found  the  best  house  in  the  Illinois 
Territory,  and  I  leave  you  to  the  enjoyment  of  it." 

"You  are  leaving  the  house,  monsieur?" 

"I  find  I  am  obliged  to  make  a  short  journey." 

"I  have  made  a  long  one,  monsieur.  It  may 
be  best  to  tell  you  that  I  come  charged  with  a 
message  for  you." 

I  thought  of  Madame  d'Angouleme.  The  sister 
who  had  been  mine  for  a  few  minutes,  and  from 
whom  this  priest  had  cast  me  out,  declaring  that 
God  had  smitten  the  pretender  when  my  eclipse  laid 
me  at  his  feet — remembered  me  in  her  second  exile, 
perhaps  believed  in  me  still.  Women  put  wonder 
ful  restraints  upon  themselves. 


408  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

Abbe  Edgeworth  and  I  looked  steadily  at  each 
other. 

"I  hope  Madame  d'Angouleme  is  well?" 
"She  is  well,  and  is  still  the  comforter  of  his 
Majesty's  misfortune." 

"Monsieur  the  Abbe,  a  message  would  need  to 
be  very  urgent  to  be  listened  to  to-night.  I  will 
give  you  audience  in  the  morning,  or  when  I  re 
turn." 

We  both  bowed  again.  I  took  Pierre  Grignon 
into  the  hall  for  counsel. 

In  the  end  he  rode  with  me,  for  we  concluded 
to  send  Skenedonk  with  a  party  along  the  east 
shore. 

Though  searching  for  the  lost  is  an  experience 
old  as  the  world,  its  poignancy  was  new  to  me. 
I  saw  Eagle  tangled  in  the  wild  oats  of  the  river. 
I  saw  her  treacherously  dealt  with  by  Indians  who 
called  themselves  at  peace.  I  saw  her  wandering 
out  and  out,  mile  beyond  mile,  to  undwelt-in  places, 
and  the  tender  mercy  of  wolves. 

We  crossed  the  ferry  and  took  to  the  trail,  Pierre 
Grignon  talking  cheerfully. 

"Nothing  has  happened  to  her,  M's'r  Williams," 
he  insisted.  "No  Indian  about  La  Baye  would  hurt 
her,  and  the  child  is  not  so  crazy  as  to  hurt  her 
self." 

It  was  a  starless  night,  muffled  overhead  as  the 
day  had  been,  but  without  rain  or  mist.  He  had  a 
lantern  hanging  at  his  saddle  bow,  ready  to  light. 
In  the  open  lands  we  rode  side  by  side,  but  through 


ARRIVINQ  409 

growths  along  the  Fox  first  one  and  then  the  other 
led  the  way. 

We  found  my  door  unfastened.  I  remembered 
for  the  first  time  I  had  not  locked  it.  Some  one 
had  been  in  the  house.  A  low  fire  burned  in  the 
chimney.  ,We  stirred  it  and  lighted  the  lantern. 
Footprints  not  our  own  had  dried  white  upon 
the  smooth  dark  floor. 

They  pointed  to  the  fireplace  and  out  again. 
They  had  been  made  by  a  woman's  feet. 

We  descended  the  hill  to  the  river,  and  tossed 
our  light  through  every  bush,  the  lantern  blinking 
in  the  wind.  We  explored  the  ravine,  the  light 
stealing  over  white  birches  that  glistened  like  ala 
baster.  It  was  no  use  to  call  her  name.  She 
might  be  hidden  behind  a  rock  laughing  at  us.  We 
had  to  surprise  her  to  recover  her.  Skenedonk 
would  have  traced  her  where  we  lost  the  trail. 

When  we  went  back  to  the  house,  dejected  with 
physical  weariness,  I  unstrapped  the  blanket  and 
the  food  which  Madame  Ursule  had  sent,  and 
brought  them  to  Pierre  Grignon.  He  threw  the 
blanket  on  the  settee,  laid  out  bread  and  meat  on 
the  table,  and  ate,  both  of  us  blaming  ourselves  for 
sending  the  Indian  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

We  traced  the  hard  route  which  I  had  followed 
the  day  before,  and  reached  Green  Bay  about  dawn. 
Pierre  Grignon  went  to  bed  exhausted.  I  had  some 
breakfast  and  waited  for  Skenedonk.  He  had  not 
returned,  but  had  sent  one  man  back  to  say  there 
was  no  clue.  The  meal  was  like  a  passover  eaten 


410  Iv  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

in  haste.  I  could  not  wait,  but  set  out  again,  with 
a  pillion  which  I  had  carried  uselessly  in  the  night 
strapped  again  upon  the  horse  for  her  seat,  in  case 
I  found  her;  and  leaving  word  for  the  Oneida 
to  follow. 

I  had  forgotten  there  was  such  a  person  as  Abbe 
Edgeworth,  when  he  led  a  horse  upon  the  ferry 
boat. 

"You  ride  early  as  well  as  late.    May  I  join  you?" 

"I  ride  on  a  search  which  cannot  interest  you, 
monsieur." 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  understand  what  has  dis 
turbed  the  house,  and  I  want  to  ride  with  you." 

"It  will  be  hard  for  a  horseman  accustomed  to 
avenues." 

"It  will  suit  me  perfectly." 

It  did  not  suit  me  at  all,  but  he  took  my  coldness 
with  entire  courtesy. 

"Have  you  breakfasted,  monsieur?" 

"I  had  my  usual  slice  of  bread  and  cup  of  water 
before  rising,"  he  answered. 

Again  I  led  on  the  weary  trail  to  my  house.  Abbe 
Edgeworth  galloped  well,  keeping  beside  me  where 
there  was  room,  or  riding  behind  where  there  was 
not.  The  air  blew  soft,  and  great  shadow  clouds 
ran  in  an  upper  current  across  the  deepest  blueness 
I  had  seen  in  many  a  day.  The  sun  showed  beyond 
rows  of  hills. 

I  bethought  myself  to  ask  the  priest  if  he  knew 
anything  about  Count  de  Chaumont.  He  answered 
yery  simply  and  directly  that  he  did;  that  I  might 


ARRIVING  4" 

remember  Count  de  Chaumont  was  mentioned  in 
Mittau.  The  count,  he  said,  according  to  common 
report,  had  retired  with  his  daughter  and  his  son- 
in-law  to  Blois,  where  he  was  vigorously  rebuild 
ing  his  ruined  chateau  of  Chaumont. 

If  my  mind  had  been  upon  the  priest,  I  should 
have  wondered  what  he  came  for.  He  did  not  press 
his  message. 

"The  court  is  again  in  exile?"  I  said,  when  we 
could  ride  abreast. 

"At  Ghent." 

"Bellenger  visited  me  last  September.  He  was 
without  a  dauphin." 

"We  could  supply  the  deficiency,"  Abbe  Edge- 
worth  pleasantly  replied. 

"With  the  boy  he  left  in  Europe?" 

"Oh,  dear  no.  With  royal  dukes.  You  observed 
his  majesty  could  not  pension  a  helpless  idiot  with 
out  encouraging  dauphins.  These  dauphins  are 
thicker  than  blackberries.  The  dauphin  myth  has 
become  so  common  that  whenever  we  see  a  beg 
gar  approaching,  we  say,  There  comes  another 
dauphin.'  One  of  them  is  a  fellow  who  calls  him 
self  the  Duke  of  Richemont.  He  has  followers  who 
believe  absolutely  in  him.  Somebody,  seeing  him 
asleep,  declared  it  was  the  face  of  the  dead  king!" 

I  felt  stung,  remembering  the  Marquis  du  Ples- 
sy's  words. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  said  Abbe  Edgeworth.  "He  has 
visions  too.  Half  memories,  when  the  face  of  his 
mother  comes  back  to  him!" 


412  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"What  about  his  scars?"  I  asked  hardily. 

"Scars!  yes,  I  am  told  he  has  the  proper  stig 
mata  of  the  dauphin.  He  was  taken  out  of  the 
Temple  prison;  a  dying  boy  being  substituted  for 
him  there.  We  all  know  the  dauphin's  physician 
died  suddenly;  some  say  he  was  poisoned;  and  a 
new  physician  attended  the  boy  who  died  in  the 
Temple.  Of  course  the  priest  who  received  the 
child's  confession  should  have  known  a  dauphin 
when  he  saw  one.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there, 
We  lived  then  in  surprising  times." 

"Madame  d'Angouleme  would  recognize  him  as 
her  brother  if  she  saw  him?"  I  suggested. 

"I  think  she  is  not  so  open  to  tokens  as  at  one 
time.  Women's  hearts  are  tender.  The  Duchess 
d'Angouleme  could  never  be  convinced  that  her 
brother  died." 

"But  others,  including  her  uncle,  were  con 
vinced?" 

"The  Duke  of  Richemont  was  not.  What  do  you 
yourself  think,  Monsieur  Williams?" 

"I  think  that  the  man  who  is  out  is  an  infinite 
joke.  He  tickles  the  whole  world.  People  have  a 
right  to  laugh  at  a  man  who  cannot  prove  he  is 
what  he  says  he  is.  The  difference  between  a  pre 
tender  and  a  usurper  is  the  difference  between  the 
top  of  the  hill  and  the  bottom." 

The  morning  sun  showed  the  white  mortar  ribs 
of  my  homestead  clean  and  fair  betwixt  hewed 
logs ;  and  brightened  the  inside  of  the  entrance  or 
hall  room.  For  I  saw  the  door  stood  open.  It 


ARRIVING  413 

had  been  left  unfastened  but  not  ajar.  Somebody 
was  in  the  house. 

I  told  Abbe  Edgeworth  we  would  dismount  and 
tie  our  horses  a  little  distance  away.  And  I  asked 
him  to  wait  outside  and  let  me  enter  alone. 

He  obligingly  sauntered  on  the  hill  overlooking 
the  Fox;  I  stepped  upon  the  gallery  and  looked  in. 

The  sweep  of  a  gray  dress  showed  in  front  of 
the  settle.  Eagle  was  there.  I  stood  still 

She  had  put  on  more  wood.  Fire  crackled  in  the 
chimney.  I  saw,  and  seemed  to  have  known  all 
night,  that  she  had  taken  pieces  of  unbroken  bread 
and  meat  left  by  Pierre  Grignon  on  my  table;  that 
her  shoes  were  cleaned  and  drying  in  front  of  the 
fire;  that  she  must  have  carried  her  dress  above 
contact  with  the  soft  ground. 

When  I  asked  Abbe  Edgeworth  not  to  come  in, 
her  dread  of  strangers  influenced  me  less  than  a 
desire  to  protect  her  from  his  eyes,  haggard  and 
draggled  as  she  probably  was.  The  instinct  which 
made  her  keep  her  body  like  a  temple  had  not 
failed  under  the  strong  excitement  that  drove  her 
out.  Whether  she  slept  under  a  bush,  or  not  at  all, 
or  took  to  the  house  after  Pierre  Grignon  and  I  left 
it,  she  was  resting  quietly  on  the  settle  before  the 
fireplace,  without  a  stain  of  mud  upon  her. 

I  could  see  nothing  but  the  foot  of  her  dress. 
Had  any  change  passed  over  her  face?  Or  had 
the  undisturbed  smile  of  my  Cloud-Mother  fol 
lowed  me  on  the  road? 

Perhaps  the  cloud  had  thickened.    Perhaps  thun- 


414  Iv  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

uers  and  lightnings  moved  within  it.  Sane  people 
sometimes  turn  wild  after  being  lost,  running  from 
their  friends,  and  righting  against  being  restrained 
and  brought  home. 

The  gray  dress  in  front  of  my  hearth  I  could  not 
see  without  a  heaving  of  the  breast. 


HOW  a  man's  life  is  drawn,  turned,  shaped, 
by  a  woman!  He  may  deny  it.  He  may 
swagger  and  lie  about  it.  Heredity,  ambition, 
lust,  noble  aspirations,  weak  self-indulgence,  power, 
failure,  success,  have  their  turns  with  him.  But 
the  woman  he  desires  above  all  others,  whose  breast 
is  his  true  home,  makes  him,  mars  him. 

Had  she  cast  herself  on  the  settle  exhausted  and 
ill  after  exposure?  Should  I  find  her  muttering  and 
helpless?  Worse  than  all,  had  the  night  made  her 
forget  that  she  was  a  Cloud-Mother? 

I  drew  my  breath  with  an  audible  sound  in  the 
throat.  Her  dress  stirred.  She  leaned  around  the 
edge  of  the  settle. 

Eagle  de  Ferrier,  not  my  Cloud-Mother,  looked 
at  me.  Her  features  were  pinched  from  exposure, 
but  flooded  themselves  instantly  with  a  blush.  She 
snatched  her  shoes  from  the  hearth  and  drew  them 
on. 

I  was  taken  with  such  a  trembling  that  I  held  to 
a  gallery  post. 

Suppose  this  glimpse  of  herself  had  been  given 
to  me  only  to  be  withdrawn!  I  was  afraid  to  speak, 
and  waited. 

She  stood  up  facing  me. 

"Louis!" 

415 


416  L  A  Z  A  R  R  E: 

"Madame!" 

"What  is  the  matter,  sire?" 

"Nothing,  madame,  nothing." 

"Where  is  Paul?" 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  and  looked  at  her 
completely  helpless;  for  if  I  told  her  Paul  was 
dead,  she  might  relapse;  and  evasions  must  be 
temporary. 

"The  Indian  took  him,"  she  cried. 

"But  the  Indian  didn't  kill  him,  Eagle." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  Paul  came  to  <me." 

"He  came  to  you?    Where?" 

"At  Fort  Stephenson." 

"Where  is  my  child?" 

"He  is  at  Fort  Stephenson." 

"Bring  him  to  me!" 

"I  can't  bring  him,  Eagle." 

"Then  let  me  go  to  him." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  her. 

"And  there  were  Cousin  Philippe  and  Ernestine 
lying  across  the  step.  I  have  been  thinking  all 
night.  Do  you  understand  it?" 

"Yes,  I  understand  it,  Eagle." 

By  the  time  I  had  come  into  the  house  her  mind 
leaped  forward  in  comprehension.  The  blanket 
she  had  held  on  her  shoulders  fell  around  her  feet. 
It  was  a  striped  gay  Indian  blanket. 

"You  were  attacked,  and  the  settlement  was 
burned." 

"But  whose  house  is  this?" 


ARRIVINQ  417 

"This  is  my  house." 

"Did  you  bring  me  to  your  house?" 

"I  wasn't  there." 

"No,  I  remember.  You  were  not  there.  I  saw 
you  the  last  time  at  the  Tuileries." 

"When  did  you  come  to  yourself,  madame?" 

"I  have  been  sick,  haven't  I?  But  I  have  been 
sitting  by  this  fire  nearly  all  night,  trying  to  un 
derstand.  I  knew  I  was  alone,  because  Cousin 
Philippe  and  Ernestine — I  want  Paul!" 

I  looked  at  the  floor,  and  must  have  appeared 
miserable.  She  passed  her  hands  back  over  her 
forehead  many  times  as  if  brushing  something 
away.  "If  he  died,  tell  me." 

"I  held  him,  Eagle." 

"They  didn't  kill  him?" 

"No." 

"Or  scalp  him?" 

"The  knife  never  touched  him/' 

"But " 

"It  was  in  battle." 

"My  child  died  in  battle?  How  long  have  I 
been  ill?" 

"More  than  a  year,  Eagle." 

"And  he  died  in  battle?" 

"He  had  a  wound  in  his  side.  He  was  brought 
into  the  fort,  and  I  took  care  of  him." 

She  burst  out  weeping,  and  laughed  and  wept, 
the  tears  running  down  her  face  and  wetting  her 
bosom. 


418  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

"My  boy!  My  little  son!  You  held  him!  He 
died  like  a  man!" 

I  put  her  on  the  settle,  and  all  the  cloud  left  her 
in  that  tempest  of  rain.  Afterwards  I  wiped  her 
face  with  my  handkerchief  and  she  sat  erect  and 
still. 

A  noise  of  many  birds  came  from  the  ravine,  and 
winged  bodies  darted  past  the  door  uttering  the 
cries  of  spring.  Abbe  Edgeworth  sauntered  by 
and  she  saw  him,  and  was  startled. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"A  priest." 

"When  did  he  come?" 

"He  rode  here  with  me  this  morning." 

"Louis,"  she  asked,  leaning  back,  "who  took  care 
of  me?" 

"You  have  been  with  the  Grignons  since  you 
came  to  the  Illinois  Territory." 

"Am  I  in  the  Illinois  Territory?" 

"Yes,  I  found  you  with  the  Grignons." 

"They  must  be  kind  people!" 

"They  are;  the  earth's  salt." 

"But  who  brought  me  to  the  Illinois  Territory?" 

"A  family  named  Jordan." 

"The  Indians  didn't  kill  them?" 

"No." 

"Why  wasn't  I  killed?" 

"The  Indians  regarded  you  with  superstition." 

"What  have  I  said  and  done?" 

"Nothing,  madame,  that  need  give  you  any  un- 


ARRIVING^  419 

"But  what  did  I  say?"  she  insisted. 

"You  thought  you  were  a  Cloud-Mother." 

"A  Cloud-Mother!"  She  was  astonished  and 
asked,  "What  is  a  Cloud-Mother?" 

"You  thought  I  was  Paul,  and  you  were  my 
Cloud-Mother." 

"Did  I  say  such  a  foolish  thing  as  that?" 

"Don't  call  it  foolish,  madame." 
.     "I  hope  you  will  forget  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  forget  it." 

"But  why  are  you  in  Illinois  Territory,  sire?" 

"I  came  to  find  land  for  the  Iroquois.  I  intend 
to  make  a  state  with  the  tribe." 

"But  what  of  France?" 

"Oh,  France  is  over  supplied  with  men  who  want 
to  make  a  state  of  her.  Louis  XVIII  has  been  on 
the  throne  eleven  months,  and  was  recently  chased 
off  by  Napoleon. 

"Louis  XVIII  on  the  throne?  Did  true  loyalists 
suffer  that?" 

"Evidently." 

"Sire,  what  became  of  Napoleon?" 

"He  was  beaten  by  the  allies  and  sent  to  Elba. 
Louis  XVIII  was  brought  in  with  processions.  But 
in  about  eleven  months  Napoleon  made  a  dash 
across  France — " 

"Tell  me  slowly.  You  say  I  have  been  ill  more 
than  a  year.  I  know  nothing  of  what  has  hap 
pened." 

"Napoleon  escaped  from  Elba,  made  a  dash 
across  France,  and  incidentally  swept  the  Bourbon 


420  Iw  A  Z  A  R  R  E 

off  the  throne.  The  last  news  from  Europe  shows 
him  gathering  armies  to  meet  the  allies." 

"Oh,  sire,  you  should  have  been  there !" 

"Abbe  Edgeworth  suggests  that  France  is  well 
supplied  with  dauphins  also.  Turning  off  dauphins 
has  been  a  pastime  at  court." 

"Abbe  Edgeworth?  You  do  not  mean  the  priest 
you  saw  at  Mittau? 

"Confessor  and  almoner  to  his  majesty.  The 
same  man." 

"Is  he  here?" 

"You  saw  him  pass  the  door." 

"Why  has  he  come  to  America?" 

"I  have  not  inquired." 

"Why  is  he  here  with  you?" 

"Because  it  pleases  him,  not  me." 

"He  brings  you  some  message?" 

"So  he  says." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  have  not  had  time  to  ask." 

She  stood  up.  As  she  became  more  herself  and 
the  spirit  rushed  forward  in  her  face,  I  saw  how  her 
beauty  had  ripened.  Hoeing  corn  and  washing  in 
the  river  does  not  coarsen  well-born  women.  I 
knew  I  should  feel  the  sweetness  of  her  presence 
stinging  through  me  and  following  me  wherever  I 
went  in  the  world. 

"Call  the  priest  in,  sire.  I  am  afraid  I  have  hin 
dered  the  interview." 

"I  did  not  meet  him  with  my  arms  open,  ma- 
dame." 


ARRIVING  421 

"But  you  would  have  heard  what  he  had  to  say, 
if  I  had  not  been  in  your  house.  .Why  am  I  in 
your  house?" 

"You  came  here." 

"Was  I  wandering  about  by  myself?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"I  thought  I  must  have  been  walking.  When  I 
came  to  myself  I  was  so  tired,  and  my  shoes  were 
muddy.  If  you  want  to  see  the  priest  I  will  go  into 
another  room." 

"No,  I  will  bring  him  in  and  let  him  give  his  mes 
sage  in  your  presence." 

When  Abbe  Edgeworth  was  presented  to  her, 
he  slightly  raised  his  eyebrows,  but  expressed  no 
astonishment  at  meeting  her  lucid  eyes.  Nor  did 
I  explain — "God  has  given  her  back  her  senses  in 
a  night." 

The  position  in  which  she  found  herself  was  try 
ing.  She  made  him  a  grave  courtesy.  My  house 
might  have  been  the  chateau  in  which  she  was  born, 
so  undisturbed  was  her  manner.  Her  night  wan 
dering  and  mind-sickness  were  simply  put  behind 
us  in  the  past,  with  her  having  taken  refuge  in  my 
house,  as  matters  which  need  not  concern  Abbe 
Edgeworth.  He  did  not  concern  himself  with  them, 
but  bent  before  her  as  if  he  had  no  doubt  of  her 
sanity. 

I  asked  her  to  resume  her  place  on  the  settle. 
There  was  a  stool  for  the  abbe  and  one  for  myself. 
We  could  see  the  river  glinting  in  its  valley,  and 
the  windrows  of  heights  beyond  it.  A  wild  bee 


Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  E> 

darted  into  the  room,  droning,  and  out  again,  the 
sun  upon  its  back. 

"'Monsieur/'  I  said  to  Abbe  Edgeworth,  "I  am 
ready  now  to  hear  the  message  which  you  men 
tioned  to  me  last  night." 

"If  madame  will  pardon  me,"  he  answered,  "I 
will  ask  you  to  take  me  where  we  can  confer  alone." 

"It  is  not  necessary,  monsieur.  Madame  de  Fer- 
rier  knows  my  whole  story.5' 

But  the  priest  moved  his  shoulders. 

"I  followed  you  in  this  remote  place,  monsieur, 
that  we  might  talk  together  without  interruption, 
unembarrassed  by  any  witness/' 

Madame  de  Ferrier  rose.  I  put  her  into  her  seat 
again  with  authority. 

"It  is  my  wish,  madame,  to  have  at  least  one  wit 
ness  with  Abbe  Edgeworth  and  myself." 

"I  hope,"  he  protested,  "that  madame  will  be 
lieve  there  can  be  no  objection  to  her  presence.  I 
am  simply  following  instructions.  I  was  instructed 
to  deliver  my  message  in  private." 

"Monsieur,"  Eagle  answered,  "I  would  gladly 
withdraw  to  another  room." 

"I  forbid  it,  madame,"  I  said  to  her. 

"Very  well,"  yielded  Abbe  Edgeworth. 

He  took  a  folded  paper  from  his  bosom,  and 
spoke  to  me  with  startling  sharpness. 

"You  think  I  should  address  you  as  Monseig- 
neur,  as  the  dauphin  of  France  should  be  ad 
dressed?" 

"I  do  not  press  my  rights.    If  I  did,  monsieur  the 


ARRIVINQ  423 

abbe,  you  would  not  have  the  right  to  sit  in  my 
presence." 

"Suppose  we  humor  your  fancy.  I  will  address 
you  as  Monseigneur.  Let  us  even  go  a  little  farther 
and  assume  that  you  are  known  to  be  the  dauphin 
of  France  by  witnesses  who  have  never  lost  track 
of  you.  In  that  case,  Monseigneur,  would  you  put 
your  name  to  a  paper  resigning  all  claim  upon  the 
throne?" 

"Is  this  your  message?" 

"We  have  not  yet  come  to  the  message." 

"Let  us  first  come  to  the  dauphin.  When  dauphins 
are  as  plentiful  as  blackberries  in  France  and  the 
court  never  sees  a  beggar  appear  without  exclaim 
ing:  'Here  comes  another  dauphin!' — why,  may  1 
ask,  is  Abbe  Edgeworth  sent  so  far  to  seek  one?" 

He  smiled. 

"We  are  supposing  that  Monseigneur,  in  whose 
presence  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  is  the  true  dau 
phin." 

"That  being  the  case,  how  are  we  to  account  for 
the  true  dauphin's  reception  at  Mittau?" 

"The  gross  stupidity  and  many  blunders  of  agents, 
that  the  court  was  obliged  to  employ,  need  hardly 
be  assumed." 

"Poor  Bellenger!  He  has  to  take  abuse  from 
both  sides  in  order  that  we  may  be  polite  to  each 
other." 

"As  Monseigneur  suggests,  we  will  not  go  into 
that  matter." 

Eagle  sat  as  erect  as  a  statue  and  as  white. 


I  felt  an  instant's  anxiety.  Yet  she  had  herself 
entirely  at  command. 

"We  have  now  arrived  at  the  paper,  I  trust,"  said 
the  priest. 

"The  message?" 

"Oh,  no.  The  paper  in  which  you  resign  all 
claim  to  the  throne  of  France,  and  which  may  give 
you  the  price  of  a  principality  in  this  country." 

"I  do  not  sign  any  such  paper." 

"Not  at  all?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"You  are  determined  to  hold  to  your  rights?" 

"I  am  determined  not  to  part  with  my  rights." 

"Inducements  large  enough  might  be  offered." 
He  paused  suggestively. 

"The  only  man  in  France,"  I  said,  "empowered 
to  treat  for  abdication  of  the  throne  at  present,  is 
Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Did  you  bring  a  message 
from  him?" 

Abbe  Edgeworth  winced,  but  laughed. 

"Napoleon  Bonaparte  will  not  last.  All  Europe 
is  against  him.  I  see  we  have  arrived  at  the  mes- 
sage." 

He  rose  and  handed  me'the  paper  he  held  in  his 
hand.  I  rose  and  received  it,  and  read  it  standing. 

It  was  one  brief  line : — 

"Louis:    You  are  recalled. 

Marie-Therese." 

The  blood  must  have  rushed  over  my  face     I 


A  R  R  I  V  I  N  O  425 

had  a  submerged  feeling,  looking  out  of  it  at  the 
priest. 

"Well,  Monseigneur?" 

"It  is  like  her  heavenly  goodness." 

"Do  you  see  nothing  but  her  heavenly  goodness 
in  it?" 

"This  is  the  message?" 

"It  is  a  message  I  crossed  the  ocean  to  bring." 

"With  the  consent  of  her  uncle?" 

"Madame  d'Angouleme  never  expresses  a  wish 
contrary  to  the  wishes  of  his  majesty." 

"We  are  then  to  suppose  that  Louis  XVIII 
offers  me,  through  you,  monsieur,  the  opportunity 
to  sign  away  my  rights,  and  failing  that,  the  oppor 
tunity  of  taking  them?" 

"Supposing  you  are  Monseigneur  the  dauphin, 
we  will  let  our  supposition  run  as  far  as  this." 

I  saw  distinctly  the  position  of  Louis  XVIII. 
Marquis  du  Plessy  had  told  me  he  was  a  mass  of 
superstition.  No  doubt  he  had  behaved,  as  Bellen- 
ger  said,  for  the  good  of  the  royalist  cause.  But 
the  sanction  of  heaven  was  not  on  his  behavior. 
Bonaparte  was  let  loose  on  him  like  the  dragon 
from  the  pit.  And  Frenchmen,  after  yawning 
eleven  months  or  so  in  the  king's  august  face, 
threw  up  their  hats  for  the  dragon.  In  his  second 
exile  the  inner  shadow  and  the  shadow  of  age  com 
bined  against  him.  He  had  tasted  royalty.  It  was 
not  as  good  as  he  had  once  thought.  Beside  him 
always,  he  saw  the  face  of  Marie-Therese.  She 
never  forgot  the  hushed  mystery  of  her  brother. 


426  Iv  A  ^  A  R  R  K 

Her  silence  and  obedience  to  the  crown,  her  loyalty 
to  Jugging  and  evasion,  were  more  powerful  than 
resistance. 

A  young  man,  brought  suddenly  before  the  jaded 
nation  and  proclaimed  at  an  opportune  moment, 
might  be  a  successful  toy.  The  sore  old  king  would 
oil  more  than  the  royalist  cause,  and  the  blessing 
of  heaven  would  descend  on  one  who  restored  the 
veritable  dauphin. 

I  never  have  seen  the  most  stupid  man  doubt 
his  power  to  ride  if  somebody  hoists  him  into  the 
saddle. 

"Let  us  go  farther  with  our  suppositions,"  I 
said.  "Suppose  I  decline?" 

I  heard  Madame  de  Ferrier  gasp. 

The  priest  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"In  that  case  you  will  be  quite  willing  to  give  me 
a  signed  paper  declaring  your  reasons." 

"I  sign  no  paper."  ^ 

"Let  me  suggest  that  Monseigneur  is  not  con 
sistent.  He  neither  resigns  his  supposed  rights 
nor  will  he  exercise  them." 

"I  will  neither  resign  them  nor  exercise  them." 

"This  is  virtually  resigning  them." 

"The  abbe  will  pardon  me  for  saying  it  is  not. 
My  rights  are  mine,  whether  I  use  them  or  not." 

"Monseigneur  understands  that  opportunity  is  a 
visitor  that  comes  but  once." 

"I  understand  that  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
has  happened  to-day  that  will  ever  go  unrecorded 
in  history.  One  Bourbon  offers  to  give  away  a 


A.  R  R  I  V  I  N  G  427 

throne  he  has  lost  and  another  Bourbon  refuses  it." 

"You  may  well  say  it  will  go  unrecorded  in  his 
tory.  Excepting  this  lady," — the  abbe  bowed 
toward  Eagle, — "there  is  no  witness." 

"Wise  precautions  have  been  taken,"  I  agreed. 
"This  scrap  of  paper  may  mean  anything  or  noth- 
ing." 

"You  decline?"  he  repeated. 

"I  think  France  is  done  with  the  Bourbons,  mon 
sieur  the  abbe.  A  fine  spectacle  they  have  made 
of  themselves,  cooling  their  heels  all  over  Europe, 
waiting  for  Napoleon's  shoes!  Will  I  go  sneaking 
and  trembling  to  range  myself  among  impotent 
kings  and  wrangle  over  a  country  that  wants  none 
of  us?  No,  I  never  will!  I  see  where  my  father 
slipped.  I  see  where  the  eighteenth  Louis  slipped. 
I  am  a  man  tenacious  beyond  belief.  You  cannot 
loose  my  grip  when  I  take  hold.  But  I  never 
have  taken  »hold,  I  never  will  take  hold — of  my 
native  country,  struggling  as  she  is  to  throw  off 
hereditary  rule!" 

"You  are  an  American!"  said  Abbe  Edgeworth 
contemptuously. 

"If  France  called  to  me  out  of  need,  I  would 
fight  for  her.  A  lifetime  of  peaceful  years  I  would 
toss  away  in  a  minute  to  die  in  one  achieving  bat 
tle  for  her.  But  she  neither  calls  me  nor  needs  me. 
A  king  is  not  simply  an  appearance — a  continuation 
of  hereditary  rights!" 

"Your  position  is  incredible,"  said  the  priest. 

"I  do  not  belittle  the  prospect  you  open  before 


428  lv  A.  Z  A  R  R  K 

me.  I  see  the  practical  difficulties,  but  I  see  well 
the  magnificence  beyond  them." 

"Then  why  do  you  hesitate?" 

"I  don't  hesitate.  A  man  is  contemptible  who 
stands  shivering  and  longing  outside  of  what  he 
dare  not  attempt.  I  would  dare  if  I  longed.  But  I 
don't  long." 

"Monseigneur  believes  there  will  be  complica 
tions?" 

"I  know  my  own  obstinacy.  A  man  who  tried  to 
work  me  with  strings  behind  a  throne,  would  think 
he  was  struck  by  lightning." 

"Sire,"  Madame  de  Ferrier  spoke  out,  "this  is 
the  hour  of  your  life.  Take  your  kingdom." 

"I  should  have  to  take  it,  madame,  if  I  got  it. 
My  uncle  of  Provence  has  nothing  to  give  me.  He 
merely  says — 'My  dear  dauphin,  if  Europe  knocks 
Napoleon  down,  will  you  kindly  take  hold  of  a 
crank  which  is  too  heavy  for  me,  and  turn  it  for  the 
good  of  the  Bourbons?  We  may  thus  keep  the 
royal  machine  in  the  family !'  " 

"You  have  given  no  adequate  reason  for  declin 
ing  this  offer,"  said  the  priest. 

"I  will  give  no  reason.    I  simply  decline." 

"Is  this  the  explanation  that  I  shall  make  to 
Madame  d'Angouleme?  Think  of  the  tender  sister 
who  says — 'Louis,  you  are  recalled!''1 

"I  do  think  of  her.    God  bless  her!" 

"Must  I  tell  her  that  Monseigneur  planted  his 
feet  like  one  of  these  wild  cattle,  and  wheeled,  and 
fled  from  the  contemplation  of  a  throne?" 


ARRIVIKO  429 

"You  will  dress  it  up  in  your  own  felicitous  way, 


monsieur." 


"What  do  you  wish  me  to  say?" 

"That  I  decline.  I  have  not  pressed  the  embar- 
i-assing  question  of  why  I  was  not  recalled  long 
ago.  I  reserve  to  myself  the  privilege  of  declin 
ing  without  saying  why  I  decline." 

"He  must  be  made  to  change  his  mind,  mon 
sieur!"  Madame  de  Ferrier  exclaimed. 

"I  am  not  a  man  that  changes  his  mind  every 
time  the  clock  strikes." 

I  took  the  padlocked  book  out  of  my  breast  and 
laid  it  upon  the  table.  I  looked  at  the  priest,  not  at 
her.  The  padlocked  book  seemed  to  have  no  more 
to  do  with  the  conversation,  than  a  hat  or  a  pair  of 
gloves. 

I  saw,  as  one  sees  from  the  side  of  the  eye,  the 
scarlet  rush  of  blood  and  the  snow-white  rush  of 
pallor  which  covered  her  one  after  the  other.  The 
moment  was  too  strenuous.  I  could  not  spare  her. 
She  had  to  bear  it  with  me. 

She  set  her  clenched  hands  on  her  knees. 

"Sire!" 

I  faced  her.  The  coldest  look  I  ever  saw  in  her 
gray  eyes  repelled  me,  as  she  deliberately  said — 

"You  are  not  such  a  fool!" 

I  stared  back  as  coldly  and  sternly,  and  delib 
erately  answered — 

"I  am — just — such  a  fool!" 

"Consider  how  any  person  who    might    be    to 


430  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

blame  for  your  decision,  would  despise  you  for  it 
afterwards!" 

"A  boy  in  the  first  flush  of  his  youth,"  Abbe 
Edgeworth  said,  his  fine  jaws  squared  with  a  grin, 
"might  throw  away  a  kingdom  for  some  woman 
who  took  his  fancy,  and  whom  he  could  not  have 
perhaps,  unless  he  did  throw  his  kingdom  away. 
And  after  he  had  done  it  he  would  hate  the  woman. 
But  a  young  man  in  his  strength  doesn't  do  such 
things!" 

"A  king  who  hasn't  spirit  to  be  a  king!"  Madame 
de  Ferrier  mocked. 

I  mercilessly  faced  her  down. 

"What  is  there  about  me?  Sum  me  up.  I  am 
robbed  on  every  side  by  any  one  who  cares  to  fleece 
me.  Whenever  I  am  about  to  accomplish  any 
thing  I  fall  down  as  if  knocked  on  the  head!" 

She  rose  from  her  seat. 

"You  let  yourself  be  robbed  because  you  are 
princely!  You  have  plainly  left  behind  you  every 
weakness  of  your  childhood.  Look  at  him  in  his 
strength,  Monsieur  Abbe!  He  has  sucked  in  the 
vigor  of  a  new  country!  The  failing  power  of  an 
old  line  of  kings  is  renewed  in  him!  You  could  not 
have  nourished  such  a  dauphin  for  France  in  your 
exiled  court!  Burying  in  the  American  soil  has 
developed  what  you  see  for  yourself — the  king!" 

"He  is  a  handsome  man,"  Abbe  Edgeworth 
quietly  admitted. 

"Oh,  let  his  beauty  alone!  Look  at  his  manhood 
— his  kinghood!" 


ARRIVING  431 

"Of  what  use  is  his  kinghood  if  he  will  not  exer 
cise  it?" 

"He  must!" 

She  turned  upon  me  fiercely. 

"Have  you  no  ambition?" 

"Yes,  madame.  But  there  are  several  kinds  of 
ambition,  as  there  are  several  kinds  of  success.  You 
have  to  knock  people  down  with  each  kind,  if  you 
want  it  acknowledged.  As  I  told  you  awhile  ago, 
I  am  tenacious  beyond  belief,  and  shall  succeed  in 
what  I  undertake." 

"What  are  you  undertaking?" 

"I  am  not  undertaking  to  mount  a  throne." 

"I  cannot  believe  it!  Where  is  there  a  man  who 
would  turn  from  what  is  offered  you?  Consider 
the  life  before  you  in  this  country.  Compare  it  with 
the  life  you  are  throwing  away."  She  joined  her 
hands.  "Sire,  the  men  of  my  house  who  fought  for 
the  kings  of  yours,  plead  through  me  that  you  will 
take  your  inheritance." 

I  kept  my  eyes  on  Abbe  Edgeworth.  He  con 
sidered  the  padlocked  book  as  an  object  directly 
in  his  line  of  vision.  Its  wooden  covers  and  small 
metal  padlock  attracted  the  secondary  attention  we 
bestow  on  trifles  when  we  are  at  great  issues. 

I  answered  her, 

"The  men  of  your  house — and  the  women  of 
your  house,  madame — cannot  dictate  what  kings 
of  my  house  should  do  in  this  day." 

"Well  as  you  appear  to  know  him,    madame," 


432  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  K 

said  Abbe  Edgeworth,  "and  loyally  as  you  urge 
him,  your  efforts  are  wasted." 

She  next  accused  me — 

"You  hesitate  on  account  of  the  Indians!" 

"If  there  were  no  Indians  in  America,  I  should 
do  just  as  I  am  doing." 

"All  men/'  the  abbe  noted,  "hold  in  contempt  a 
man  who  will  not  grasp  power  when  he  can." 

"Why  should  I  grasp  power?  I  have  it  in  my 
self.  I  am  using  it." 

"Using  it  to  ruin  yourself!"  she  cried. 

"Monseigneur!"  The  abbe  rose.  We  stood  eye 
to  eye.  "I  was  at  the  side  of  the  king  your  father 
upon  the  scaffold.  My  hand  held  to  his  lips  the 
crucifix  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  In  his  death  no 
word  of  bitterness  escaped  him.  True  son  of  St. 
Louis,  he  supremely  loved  France.  Upon  you  he 
laid  injunction  to  leave  to  God  alone  the  punish 
ment  of  regicides,  and  to  devote  your  life  to  the  wel 
fare  of  all  Frenchmen.  Monseigneur!  are  you  deaf 
to  this  call  of  sacred  duty?  The  voice  of  your  father 
from  the  scaffold,  in  this  hour  when  the  fortunes 
of  your  house  are  lowest,  bids  you  take  your  right 
ful  place  and  rid  your  people  of  the  usurper  who 
grinds  France  and  Europe  into  the  blood-stained 
earth!" 

I  wheeled  and  walked  across  the  floor  from  Abbe 
Edgeworth,  and  turned  again  and  faced  him. 

"Monsieur,  you  have  put  a  dart  through  me.  If 
anything  in  the  universe  could  move  me  from  my 
position,  what  you  have  said  would  do  it.  But  my. 


ARRIVINQ  433 

father's  blood  cries  through  me  to-day — 'Shall  the 
son  of  Louis  XVI  be  forced  down  the  unwilling 
throats  of  his  countrymen  by  foreign  bayonets? — 
Russians — Germans — English! — Shall  the  dauphin 
of  France  be  hoisted  to  place  by  the  alien  ?' — My 

father  would  forbid  it! You  appeal  to  my 

family  love.  I  bear  about  with  me  everywhere  the 
pictured  faces  of  my  family.  The  father  whose 
name  you  invoke,  is  always  close  to  my  heart.  That 
royal  duchess,  whom  you  are  privileged  to  see  daily, 
monsieur,  and  I — never — is  so  dear  and  sacred  to 

me  that  I  think  of  her  with  a  prayer But 

my  life  is  here Monsieur,  in  this  new  world, 

no  man  can  say  to  me — 'Come,'  or  'Go.'  I  am  as 
free  as  the  Indian.  But  the  pretender  to  the  throne 
of  France,  the  puppet  of  Russia,  of  England,  of  the 
enemies  of  my  country, — a  slave  to  policy  and  in 
trigue — a  chained  wanderer  about  Europe — O  my 
God !  to  be  such  a  pretender — gasping  for  air — for 
light— as  I  gasped  in  Ste.  Pelagic!— O  let  me  be  a 
free  man — a  free  man!" 

The  old  churchman  whispered  over  and  over — 

"My  royal  son!" 

My  arms  dropped  relaxed. 

There  was  another  reason.  I  did  not  give  it.  I 
would  not  give  it. 

We  heard  the  spring  wind  following  the  river 
channel — and  a  far  faint  call  that  I  knew  so  well — 
the  triangular  wild  flock  in  the  upper  air,  flying 
north. 


434  Iv  A  Z  A  R  R  B 

"Honk!  honk!"  It  was  the  jubilant  cry  of  free 
dom! 

"Madame,"  said  Abbe  Edgeworth,  resting  his 
head  on  his  hands,  "I  have  seen  many  stubborn 
Bourbons,  but  he  is  the  most  obstinate  of  them  all. 
\Ve  do  not  make  as  much  impression  on  him  as 
that  little  padlocked  book." 

Her  terrified  eyes  darted  at  him — and  hid  their 
panic. 

"Monsieur  Abbe,"  she  exclaimed  piercingly, 
"tell  him  no  woman  will  love  him  for  throwing 
away  a  kingdom!" 

The  priest  began  once  more. 

"You  will  not  resign  your  rights  ?" 

"No." 

"You  will  not  exercise  them?" 

"No." 

"If  I  postpone  my  departure  from  to-day  until 
to-morrow,  or  next  week,  or  next  month,  is  there 
any  possibility  of  your  reconsidering  this  decis 
ion?" 

"No." 

"Monseigneur,  must  I  leave  you  with  this 
answer?" 

"Your  staying  cannot  alter  it,  Monsieur  Abbe." 

"You  understand  this  ends  all  overtures  from 
France?" 

"I  understand." 

"Is  there  nothing  that  you  would  ask?" 

"I  would  ask  Madame  d'Angouleme  to  remem 
ber  me/' 


'  JLou.s  i    You  are  a  king !    You  are  a  king  I ' 


ARRIVING  435 

He  came  forward  like  a  courtier,  lifted  my  hand 
to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it. 

"With  your  permission,  Monseigneur,  I  will  now 
retire  and  ride  slowly  back  along  the  river  until 
you  overtake  me.  I  should  like  to  have  some  time 
for  solitary  thought." 

"You  have  my  permission,  Monsieur  Abbe." 

He  bowed  to  Madame  de  Ferrier,  and  so  mov 
ing  to  the  door,  he  bowed  again  to  me,  and  took  his 
leave. 

His  horse's  impatient  start,  and  his  remonstrance 
as  he  mounted,  came  plainly  to  our  ears.  The  reg 
ular  beat  of  hoofs  upon  the  sward  followed ;  then  an 
alternating  tap-tap  of  horse's  feet  diminished  down 
the  trail. 

Eagle  and  I  avoided  looking  at  each  other. 

A  bird  inquired  through  the  door  with  inquisi 
tive  chirp,  and  was  away. 

Volcanoes,  and  whirlwinds,  fire,  and  all  force, 
held  themselves  condensed  and  quiescent  in  the  still 
room. 

I  moved  first,  laying  Marie-Therese's  message 
on  the  padlocked  book.  Standing  with  folded  arms 
I  faced  Eagle,  and  she  as  stonily  faced  me.  It  was 
a  stare  of  unspeakable  love  that  counts  a  thousand 
years  as  a  day. 

She  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  Thus  a  soul 
Qiight  ripple  in  passing  from  its  body. 

"I  am  not  worth  a  kingdom!"  her  voice  wailed 
through  the  room. 

I  opened  my  arms  and  took  her.    Volcanoes  and 


436  Iv  A  Z  A.  R  R  E) 

whirlwinds,  fire,  and  all  force,  were  under  our  feet. 
We  trod  them  breast  to  breast. 

She  held  my  head  between  her  hands.  The 
tears  streamed  down  her  face. 

"  Louis! — you  are  a  king! — you  are  a  king!" 


THE   END. 


A  LIST  OF  RECENT  FICTION  OF 
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WHEN  KNIGHTHOOD 
WAS  IN  FLOWER 


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A  VIVACIOUS  ROMANCE  OF  REVOLU 
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ALICE  of  OLD 

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By  MAURICE  THOMPSON 


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"A  NOVEL  THAT'S  WORTH  WHILE" 

The  REDEMPTION 
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A  Mid-century  American  Novel 
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all  else  a  clean  and  pure  story.  No  one  can  read  it  and 
honestly  ask  *  what's  the  use.'  " 

Neivell  Divigbt  Hillis,  Pastor  of  Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn, 
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buoyant  note." 

Dr.  F.  W.  Gunsaulus,  President  Armour  Institute^  says  : 
"Mr.  Goss  writes  with  the  truthfulness  of  light.  He  has 
told  a  story  in  which  the  fact  of  sin  is  illuminated  with  the 
utmost  truthfulness  and  the  fact  of  redemption  is  portrayed 
with  extraordinary  power.  There  are  lines  of  greatness  in 
the  book  which  I,  shall  never  forget." 

President  M.  W.  Stryker,  Hamilton  College,  says  : 

*'  It  is  a  victory  in  writing  for  one  whose  head  seems  at  last 

to  have  matched  his  big  human  heart.    There  is  ten  times 

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AS  CRISP  AND  CLEAN  CUT 
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THE 
PUPPET    CROWN 

BY  HAROLD  MAcGRATH 


A  princess  rarely  beautiful ;  a  duchess  magnificent  and 
heartless;  a  villain  revengeful  and  courageous;  a  hero  youth 
ful,  humorous,  fearless  and  truly  American;— such  are  the 
principal  characters  of  this  delightful  story. — Syracuse  Post- 
Standard, 

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Latest  entry  in  the  list  of  winners. — Cleveland  World. 

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FULL  of  INCIDENT,  ACTION  &T  COLOR 

LIKE 
ANOTHER  HELEN 

By  GEORGE  HORTON 


Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and 
brings  an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader  — 
the  world  of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk. 

The  island  of  Crete  seems  real  and  genuine  after  reading 
this  book;  not  a  mere  spot  on  the  map.  The  tragic  and 
pathetic  troubles  of  this  people  are  told  with  sympathetic  force. 

Mr.  Horton  employs  a  vivid  style  that  keeps  the  interest 
alive  and  many  passages  are  filled  with  delicate  poetic  feeling. 

Things  happen  and  the  story  moves.  The  characters  are 
well  conceived  and  are  human  and  convincing.  Beyond  ques 
tion  Mr.  Horton's  fine  story  is  destined  to  take  high  rank  among 
the  books  of  the  day. 

With  illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea 

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ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  HISTORICAL 
NOVEL 

THE     BLACK 
WOLF'S    BREED 

By  HARRIS  DICKSON 


From  the  Boston  Globe : 

ft  A  vigorous  tale  of  France  in  the  old  and  new  world  during 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV." 

From  the  Philadelphia  Press : 

"  As  delightfully  seductive  as  certain  mint-flavored  beverages 
they  make  down  South." 

From  the  Los  Angeles  Herald : 

"The  sword-play  is  great,  even  finer  than  the  pictures  in 
'To  Have  and  To  Hold.'  " 

From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle : 

"  As  fine  a  piece  of  sustained  adventure  as  has  appeared  in 
recent  fiction." 

From  the  St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat : 

"There  is  action,  vivid  description  and  intensely  dramatic 
situations." 

From  the  Indianapolis  News : 

"  So  full  offender  love-making,  of  gallant  fighting,  that  one 
regrets  it's  no  longer." 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea.      Price  $1.50 


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A    FINE    STORY 
OF   THE    COWBOY    AT    HIS    BEST 


WITH 
HOOPS  /STEEL 

By  FLORENCE  FINCH  KELLY 


•  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple   them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel" 


From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle: 

"Western  men  and  women  will  read  it  because  it  paints 
faithfully  the  life  which  they  know  so  well,  and  because  it 
gives  us  three  big,  manly  fellows,  fine  types  of  the  cowboy 
at  his  best.  Eastern  readers  will  be  attracted  by  its  splendid 
realism." 

From  Julian  Haiuthorne  : 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  finished  it  all  in  one  day,  and  dreamt 
it  over  again  that  night.  And  I  am  an  old  hand,  heaven 
knows." 

From  the  Denver  Times: 

44  Mrs.  Kelly's  character  stands  out  from  the  background  of 
the  New  Mexican  plains,  desert  and  mountain  with  all  the 
distinctness  of  a  Remington  sketch." 

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A  NOVEL  OF  EARLY  NEW  YORK 

PATROON  VAN 
VOLKENBERG 

By  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 


From  the  New  York  Press: 

"Many  will  compare  *  Patroon  Van  Volkenberg,'  with  its 
dash,  style  and  virility,  with  '  Richard  Carvel,'  and  in  that 
respect  they  will  be  right,  as  one  would  compare  the  strong, 
sturdy  and  spreading  elm  with  a  slender  sapling." 

The  action  of  this  stirring  story  begins  when  New  York 
was  a  little  city  of  less  than  5,000  inhabitants. 

The  Governor  has  forbidden  the  port  to  the  free  traders  or 
pirate  ships,  which  sailed  boldly  under  their  own  flag;  while 
the  Patroon  and  his  merchant  colleagues  not  only  traded  openly 
with  the  buccaneers,  but  owned  and  managed  such  illicit  craft. 
The  story  of  the  clash  of  these  conflicting  interests  and  the 
resulting  exciting  happenings  is  absorbing. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  tale  is  fresh  in  fiction,  the  plot  is 
stirring  and  well  knit,  and  the  author  is  possessed  of  the  ability 
to  write  forceful,  fragrant  English. 

From  the  Brooklyn  Standard-  Union .' 

"The  tale  is  one  of  vibrant  quality.  It  can  not  be  read  at  a 
leisurely  pace.  It  bears  the  reader  through  piratical  seas  and 
buccaneering  adventures,  through  storm  and  stress  of  many 
sorts,  but  it  lands  him  safely,  and  leads  him  to  peace." 

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A  STORY  OF   THE   MORGAN   RAID, 
DURING  THE  WAR  of  the  REBELLION 


THE 
LEGIONARIES 

By  HENRY  SCOTT  CLARK 


The  Memphis  Commercial- Appeal  says : 

"  The  backbone  of  the  story  is  Morgan's  great  raid  —  one  of 
the  most  romantic  and  reckless  pieces  of  adventure  ever 
attempted  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Mr.  Clark's  descrip 
tion  of  the  Ride  of  the  Three  Tho  .sand  is  a  piece  of  litera 
ture  that  deserves  to  live  ;  and  is  as  fine  in  its  way  as  the 
chariot  race  from  '  Ben  Hur.'  " 

The  Cincinnati  Commercial-Tribune  says  : 

"  *  The  Legionaries '  is  pervaded  with  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  spirit  of  artistic  impartiality.  The  author  is  simply 
a  narrator.  He  stands  aside,  regarding  with  equal  eye  all 
the  issues  involved  and  the  scales  dip  not  in  his  hands.  To 
sum  up,  the  first  romance  of  the  new  day  on  the  Ohio  is  an 
eminently  readable  one  —  a  good  yarn  well  spun." 

The  Rochester  Herald  says : 

"The  appearance  of  a  new  novel  in  the  West  marks  an 
epoch  in  fiction  relating  to  the  war  between  the  sections  for 
the  preservation  of  the  Union.  'The  Legionaries'  is  a 
remarkable  book,  and  we  can  scarcely  credit  the  assurance 
that  it  is  the  work  of  a  new  writer." 


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THE   STORY   OF  AN   AMERICAN 
CRUCIFIXION 


THE 
PENITENTES 

By  LOUIS  HOW 


The  Chicago  Record  says : 

"  To  describe  the  customs  of  this  band  of  intensely  religious 
people,  to  retain  all  the  color  and  picturesqueness  of  the 
original  scene  without  excess,  was  the  difficult  task  which 
Mr.  How  has  done  well." 

The  Brooklyn  Eagle  says  ; 

"  The  author  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  unearth  a  colossal 
American  tragedy." 

The  Chicago  Tribune  says  : 

"  *  The  Penitentes  '  abounds  in  dramatic  possibilities.  It  is 
full  of  action,  warm  color  and  variety.  The  denouement 
at  the  little  church  of  San  Rafael,  when  the  soldiers  sur 
prise  the  Penitentes  at  mass  in  the  early  dawn  of  their  fete 
day,  will  appeal  strongly  to  the  dramatizer." 

The  Interior  says : 

"  Mr.  How  has  done  a  truly  remarkable  piece  of  work  *  *  * 
any  hand,  however  practiced,  might  well  be  proud  of  the 
marvelously  good  descriptions,  the  dramatic,  highly  unusual 
story,  the  able  characterizations." 

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THE   SUBTLE   SPIRIT  OF  THE   SEA 

SWEEPERS 
OF  THE  SEA 

The  Story  of  a  Strange  Navy 
By  CLAUDE  H.  WETMORE 


From  the  St.  Louis  Mirror  : 

"The  recital  of  the  deeds  of  the  «Sweepers  of  the  Sea*  is  a 
breathless  one.  The  romance  is  heightened  by  the  realism 
of  the  technique  of  naval  warfare,  by  the  sureness  and 
voluminosity  of  nautical  knowledge.'* 

From  the  Buffalo  Review  ; 

ft  It  rivals  Stevenson  in  its  ingenuity  of  plot  and  dramatic 
interest." 

From  the  Albany  Journal : 

"  There  rings  the  exultant  note  of  tossing  billows  and  a 
crashing  ship." 

From  the  Minneapolis  Times: 

11  Mr.  Wetmore  has  the  genius  of  Jules  Verne  and  can  make 
the  improbable  seem  the  actual.  In  fact,  '  Sweepers  of 
the  Sea'  comes  into  the  class  of  important  fiction,  and  as 
such  will  be  received  and  read  by  a  discriminating  public." 


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A   STORY   TOLD   BY  A   REAL   STORY 
TELLER 


A    SON    OF 
AUSTERITY 

By  GEORGE  KNIGHT 


Mr.  Knight  has  created  a  real  atmosphere  for  his  men  and 
women  to  breathe,  and  his  men  and  women  take  deep  breaths. 
They  are  alive,  they  are  human,  they  are  real. 

He  has  a  delightful  story  to  tell  and  knows  how  to  tell 
it.  It  is  a  story  of  human  life,  of  possible  people  in  possible 
situations,  living  out  their  little  span  of  life  in  that  state  in 
which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  them. 

The  reader  realizes  at  once  that  Mr.  Knight  is  a  man  who 
served  his  seven  years  of  apprenticeship  before  opening  a  shop 
on  his  own  account. 

The  deftness  and  charm  of  his  literary  style,  combined 
with  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  story,  can  not  but  prove  a 
delight  to  every  reader. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher 
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The  Liverpool  Mercury  says  : 

*'  This  is  a  book  far  removed  from  the  ordinary  mass  of  fea 
tureless  fiction.  There  is  no  gainsaying  the  strength  of 
characterization  and  the  command  of  English  language." 


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VIGOROUS,  ELEMENTAL,  DRAMATIC 

A   HEART 
OF   FLAME 

The  story  of  a  Master  Passion 

BY  CHARLES  FLEMING  EMBREE 

Author  of  "  A  Dream  of  a  Throne." 


The  men  and  women  in  this  story  are  children  of  the 
soil.  Their  strength  is  iu  their  nearness  to  nature.  Their 
minds  are  vigorous,  their  bodies  powerful,  their  passions 
elemental,  their  courage  sublime.  They  are  loyal  in  friend 
ship,  persistent  in  enmity,  determined  in  purpose. 

The  story  is  a  story  of  great  wrongs  and  of  supreme  love. 
It  is  done  in  black  and  white,  with  few  strokes,  but  they  are 
masterly.  The  shadows  at  the  back  are  sombre  but  the 
value  of  contrast  is  appreciated  for  the  vivid  high  light  in 
the  foreground. 

It  is  a  work  of  art— powerful,  convincing  and  abiding. 
Powerful,  because  true  to  life;  convincing,  for  it  has  the 
saving  touch  of  humor;  and  abiding  because  love,  like  "A 
Heart  of  Flame,"  prevails  in  the  end. 

With  illustrations  by  Dan  Smith 
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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-12,'64(F772s4)458 


' 


342156 

Catherwood,  M.H, 
Lazarre. 


PS1272 
L3 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


